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Full text of "Days and seasons : or, church poetry for the year"

FROM THE LIBRARY OF 
REV. LOUIS FITZGERALD BENSON, D. D. 

BEQUEATHED BY HIM TO 

THE LIBRARY OF 

PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY 






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DAYS AND SEASONS. 



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SEP 21 1934 



DAYS AND SmWr 



CHURCH POETRY 



FOR THE YEAH. 



"Why doth one day excel another, when as all the light of every day in 
the year is of the sun ? By the knowledge of the Lord they were distin- 
guished : and He altered seasons and feasts. — Bectus. xxxiii. 7, %. 



SECOND EDITION. 



LONDON: 

JOHN AND CHARLES MOZLEY, PATERNOSTER ROW ; 
AND JOSEPH MASTERS, NEW BOND STKEET. 

1848. 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 

in 2012 with funding from 

Princeton Theological Seminary Library 



http://archive.org/details/daysrchuOOwill 




ADVERTISEMENT 



The following collection has been formed on 
the same principles which influenced the se- 
lection of its predecessor, Church Poetry — 
with the difference that in the present case 
a larger proportion of the poems is derived 
from modern and original sources. 

With regard to the plan of the work — it 
was thought that its value and interest would 
be increased if the poetry chosen could be 
adapted, with as much appropriateness as the 
materials would admit of, to the different sea- 
sons of the christian and natural year, and 
in most cases, to account for the adaptation, 

A 



VI ADVERTISEMENT. 

it was found desirable to quote the passage 
of Scripture which seemed to justify it. This 
has led the selector, under the guidance of 
a clergyman, to affix a text from the ser- 
vices of the day to every poem applied to the 
Sundays and Holidays of the Church. It is 
evident that for the poems belonging to the 
course of the natural year, no such restric- 
tion was necessary. 

The selector cannot adequately thank those 
friends who have enriched this collection by 
their original contributions — on the value of 
which this is not the place to enlarge, how- 
ever warmly their merit may be felt and ap- 
preciated. 




INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Rev. Henry Alford. Lady Mary 
To-morrow 



William Austin. 
(1635) 



Anonymous. 



Page 
32 
54 
182 
215 
221 
36 
38 



The Righteous Souls 

But we are drawing near 

Sonnet 

Christmas Carol . 

Ditto .... 

Annunciation of Blessed 
Virgin Mary . .137 

Parasceue for Good Fri- 
day ... 162 

When from the grey Church 
tower ( Verses by a 
poor man) . . .49 

There is a jewel . . 94 

Lines on a Skeleton . 101 

Sonnets from Filicaja 
(British Magazine) . 121 



Vlll INDEX OF AUTHORS. 

Page 

Anonymous. The mystery of Nature 

(Educational Magazine) 129 
The Retirement . . 154 
The Crown of thorns 

(British Magazine) . 158 
Christ in the Garden (do.) 159 
Who that a Watcher doth 

remain . . .159 
Men will be light of 

heart . . . 275 

Inscription on a Child 

(British Magazine) . 298 



Psalm XCIII 


316 


Does each day 


318 


Sonnet . 


321 


The Sacred year (British 




Magazine) 


371 


Miss E. B. Barrett. My Doves 


94 


B. (British Magazine) To a Child in prayer . 


46 


B. J. W. (Brit. Mag.) Hymn for Trinity Sunday 


223 


Cowley. An Angel's flight . 


141 


Flowers scattered by 




Angels 


245 


Arthur Cleveland Vigils .... 


1 


Coxe (American) Epiphany 


66 



Go where the mossy rock 75 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Arthur Cleveland 
Coxe. 

Rev. William Cross- 
well. (American) 

Drummond. 

\ 

Rev. F. W. Faber. 



Giles Fletcheu. 
Phineas Fletcher. 

Glasse. 
7- 

Rev. R. S. Hawker. 



George Herbert. 



Page 
Lament in the Lenten 

Season . . . 124 
The Clouds ... 13 
Christmas Eve . .31 
The offering of the poor_ 68 
Look as the flower . 279 
Let us each day . .351 
Prosperity {Lyra Apos- 
tolical) ... 9 
The Winter River . 27 
The Last Palatine .111 
Sunday . . .197 

Tints of Spring . .207 
The River Rothay . 259 

From the " Contrast" . 263 
The Ascension of Christ 211 
Long Suffering . . 6 
Alas ! in what inglorious 

strains . . . 287 
On the first sight of the 

sea ... 109 

The poor man and his 

Parish Church . . 185 
Ephphatha . . .247 
Affliction . . .57 
a3 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



George Herbert. 


Page 
The flower ... 63 




Business . . . 106 




Sin ... 134 




Easter . . . .168 




Employment . . 280 
From the Church porch 289 




Ditto . . . .333 


Mrs. William Hey. 


Field flowers . . 201 


Hickes' Devotions. 


The Aspen . . .257 
An Evening Hymn . 19 
Awake, my Soul . . 39 




An Hymn for the great 
Festivals . . .169 




Now, my Soul, the day is 

gone . . . .177 
Hymn for Whit Sunday 219 
'Tis not for us . . 310 




Hymn for AH Saints' day 352 
Ditto . . . .354 


Jones (of Nay land.) 
Mason. 


Hail, Solitude . . 286 
Lamenting the loss of first 
love . . . .269 


Lord John Manners 
0. 


A song of Praise . .341 

. Thoughts in Sickness . 357 

Under the ocean Wind . 292 


Parnell. 


Hymn for Morning . 238 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Parnel. 

Sandys. 

Sir Walter Scott. 

Sir Philip Sidney. 
Skelton. 

SOUTHEY. 

Mrs. Southey. 
Spenser. 
Rev. C. Strong. 
S. B. 



Rev. R. C Trench. 

Henry Vaughan. 
Mr. Aubrey de Vere, 

Rev. Thomas Whyte- 

head. 
Rev. Isaac Williams 



Page 
Hymn for noon . . 240 
Hymn for evening . 242 

Psalm XLVI . . 203 
Psalm LXXXIV . . 319 
The course of Time . 55 
Autumn . . . 359 

Sonnet . . . .210 
An Hymn to God . . 103 
Brough Bells . . 226 

The Pauper's death bed 252 
The Ascetic . . .123 
Sonnet . . . .116 
Christmas Day . . 34 
Let the righteous be glad 100 
The Buttercups . . 205 
Sonnet on Prayer . . 28 
The Monk and the Bird 299 
I walked the other day .117 
Sonnet .... 292 
Hymn to the Meek . 345 
Thou wert the first . 171 
The glittering grass . 222 
The coming of Christ . 5 
Who would hoard earth's 
treasures . . .41 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Page 

Rev. Isaac Williams. Ye shining ones . . 152 
The growth of Wisdom 192 
Where Duty lies . . 232 
From " Angels bearing 

Crosses" . . .326 
'Departure of birds before 

Winter . . .363 
I wake as Adam . . 369 
George Wither. For one that hears him- 

self praised . . 15 
A morning Hymn . . 17 
When Daylight appears 175 
When we depart from 





home 


. 314 




When we return . 


. 315 




An evening Hymn 


. 331 


Wordsworth. 


If this mute earth . 


. 141 




Life's Autumn past 


. 246 




You behold high on 


the 




breast 


. 276 




blest seclusion . 


. 324 




Here then we rest 


. 349 




'Tis by comparison 


. 364 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 





ORIGINAL. 


Page 


Rev. H. Alford. 


Church building . 


7 


Anonymous. 


Salvete Flores Martyrum 

The Stars (by the Author 

of hymns and scenes oj 


45 




childhood) 


79 




On the 450th A nniversary 






of the opening of Win- 






chester College . 


143 


C. 


Egloshayle . 


87 




Quis separabit 


99 




The vale of Otter . 


217 


C. F. H. 


The Deaf and Dumb 


322 


C. M. 


Explanation . 


10 




Distinction . 


11 




Idolatry 


12 




The Grave . 


12 


C. M. S. 


A lesson from Spring . 


172 


D. 


Good Friday 


161 




Easter Eve . 


166 




Easter Day . 


167 



Written in a Praver-book 208 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



D. S. W. 



7- 
H. 



JC 





Page 


Recollections of early 




scenes 


46 


Snapdragon . 


281 


Forward ! 


368 


A Winter thought 


26 


Easy in anguish keen . 


367 


A Winter scene . 


78 


Mox Abiturus 


133 


Primroses at midnight . 


136 


Spring Sonnets 


179 


rich; n to -^fivpia/Atx 


244 


Sonnet (1829) 


244 



7toiv x\y)/u.ot, ev tfxoi (xi) <pzpov 

xapmov, atpEi av 7o. . 284 

AOYTPON . . .285 
But we must needs depart 335 
Yes, there are times . 335 

M. H. Jerusalem {Paraphrased 

from the German) . 91 
Wheat . . . .108 
The Summer Snowflake 250 
The wild Strawberry . 2.74 
Grass of Parnassus . 294 
The Maiden Pink . . 339 

/>. In early days . . 70 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



S. D. 



S. R. 





Page 


The Winter's morning 


. 21 


The Winter's day . 


. 24 


Delay . 


. 29 


The Persian Cyclamen 


. 60 


The Honey-suckle 


. 235 


The Rose . 


. 254 


The Lily 


. 271 


The Fuschia 


312 


A Song of Mourning 


360 


The Messenger 


. 330 


The Christmas rose 


53 


Ivy ... . 


85 


The fear of God . 


126 


Primrose 


190 


The love of God . 


233 


The five Precepts . 


266 


Town and Country 


336 


The Periwinkle . 


343 



DAYS AND SEASONS, 



OR 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 



&tibcnt Suntrag. 



VIGILS. 

Arthur Cleveland Coxe. 

The night is far spent, the day is at hand. — Rom. xiii. 12. 

Let your loins be girded about, and your lights burning. 

And ye yourselves like unto men that wait for their lord, 
when he will return from the wedding ; 

Blessed are those servants whom the Lord when he cometh, 
shall find watching : 

And if he shall come in the second watch, or come in the 
third watch, and find them so, blessed are those servants.— St. 
Luke xii. 35, 37. 

It is the fall of eve ; 
And the long tapers, now we light, 

And watch : for we believe 
Our Lord may come at night. 
Adeste Fideles. 



DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

An hour — and it is Seven, 
And fast away the evening rolls : 

O, it is dark in heaven, 
But light within our souls. 

Veni, Creator Spiritus S 

Hark ! the old bell strikes Eight ! 
And still we watch with heart and ear, 

For as the hour grows late, 
The Day-star may be near. 
Jubilate Deo ! 

Hark ! it is knelling Nine ! 
But faithful eyes grow never dim ; 

And still our tapers shine, 
And still ascends our hymn. 
Cum Angelis. 

The watchman crieth Ten ! 
My soul, be watching for the Light, 

For when He comes agen, 
'Tis as the thief at night. 
Nisi Dominus ! 

By the old bell— Eleven ! 
Now trim thy lamps, and ready stand ; 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 

The world to sleep is given, 
But Jesus is at hand. 
De profundis ! 

At Midnight — is a cry ! 
It is the bridegroom draweth near ! 

Come quickly, Lord, for I 
Have long'd Thy voice to hear ! 
Kyrie Eleeson ! 

Could ye not watch one hour ? 
Be ready : or the bridal train 

And Bridegroom, with His dower, 
May sweep along in vain ; 
Miserere mei ! 

By the old steeple — Two ! 
And now I know the day is near ; 

Watch — for His word is true, 
And Jesus may appear ! 
Dies Irse ! 

Three — by the drowsy chime ! 
And joy is nearer than at first. 

O, let us watch the time 
When the first light shall burst ! 
Sursam corda. 



DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Four — and a streak of day ! 
At the cock-crowing He may come ; 

And still to all I say, 
Watch — and with awe be dumb. 
Fili David ! 

Five ! — and the tapers now 
In rosy morning dimly burn ! 

Stand and be girded thou, 
Thy Lord will yet return ! 
Veni, Jesu ! 

Hark ! 'tis the Matin-call ! 
Oh, when our Lord shall come again, 

At prime or even-fall, 
Blest are the wakeful men ! 
Nunc dimittis. 




CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 



THE COMING OF CHRIST. 

Rev. I. Williams. 

As the lightning cometh out of the East, and shineth even 
unto the West ; so shall also the coming of the Son of man be. 

Unto the East we turn, with watchful eyes, 
Where opens the white haze of silvery lawn, 
And the still trees stand in the streak of dawn, 

Until the Sun of Righteousness shall rise, 

And far behind shall open all the skies, 
And golden clouds of angels be withdrawn 
Around His presence. Then there shall be gone, 

Fleeing before His face in dread surprise, 

The Heaven and Earth and the affrighted Sea, 

And the tribunal shall be set on high, 
And we the fiery trial must abide. 

Like nightly travellers to the kindling sky, 
Awake or sleeping to yon eastern side 
We turn, and know not when the time shall be. 




b3 



DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



i£be of St. ghititeto. 



LONG SUFFERING. 

Phineas Fletcher. 

Yet learned He obedience by the things which He suffered.— 
Heb. v. 8. 

And next Macrothumous, whose quiet face, 

No cloud of passion ever shadowed ; 
Nor could hot anger reason's rule displace, 

Purpling the scarlet cheek with fiery red ; 

Nor could revenge, clad in a deadly white, 

With hidden malice eat his vexed sprite : 
For ill, he good repaid, and love exchanged for spite. 

Was never yet a more undaunted spirit, 
Yet most he deem'd a base and timVous swain ; 

But he well weighing his own strength and merit, 
The greatest wrong could wisely entertain. 
Nothing resisted his commanding spear : 
Yielding itself to him a winning were ; 

And tho' he died, yet dead, he rose a conqueror. 



CHURCH POETMY FOR THE YEAR. 7 

His rocky arms of massy adamant, 

Safely could back rebut the hardest blade ; 

His skin itself could any weapon daunt, 

Of such strange mould and temper was he made : 
Upon his shield a palm-tree still increas'd, 
Though many weights his rising arms depressed ; 

His word was, " Rising most, by being most op- 
press'd." 



St. &ntrreto's San. 



CHURCH BUILDING. 

Rev. H. Alford. 

The Lord doth build up Jerusalem. — Ps. cxlvii. 2. 

The lovely form of God's own Church, 

It riseth in all lands ; 
On mountain sides, in wooded vales, 

And by the desert sands. 

There is it with its solemn aisles, 

A heavenly holy thing ; 
And round its walls lie Christians dead, 

Blessedly slumbering. 



DAYS AND SEASONS, Oil 

Though sects and factions rend the world, 

Peace is its heritage ; 
Unchanged, though empires by it pass, 

The same from age to age. 

The hallowed form our fathers built, 
That hallowed form build we ; 

Let not one stone from its own place 
Removed ever be. 

Scoff as thou passest if thou wilt, 
Thou man that hast no faith ; 

Thou that no sorrows hast in life, 
Nor blessedness in death. 

But we will build for all thou scoff, 
And cry " What waste is this !" 

The Loud our God hath given us all, 
And all is therefore His. 

Clear voices from above sound out 

Their blessing on the pile ; 
The dead beneath support our hands, 

And succour us the while. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAH. 

Yea, when we climb the rising walls, 
Is peace and comfort given ; 

Because the work is not of earth, 
But hath its end in Heaven. 



«£econt> SSttti&ap m &fobent. 



PROSPERITY. 

Lyra Apostolica. o. 

Woe unto them that join house to house, that lay field to 
field, till there be no place, that they may be placed alone in the 
midst of the earth ! 

In mine ears saith the Loid of hosts, of a truth many houses 
shall be desolate, even great and fair, without inhabitant. — Isaiah 
v. 8, 9. 

When they shall say, Peace and safety, then sudden destruc- 
tion cometh upon them. 

When mirth is full and free, 
Some sudden gloom shall be ; 
When haughty power mounts high, 
The Watcher's axe is nigh. 
All growth has bound ; when greatest found 
It hastes to die. 



10 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

When the rich town, that long 
Has lain its huts among, 
Rears its new buildings vast, 
And vaunts, it shall not last. 
Bright tints that shine are but a sign 
Of Summer past. 

And when thine eye surveys, 
With fond adoring gaze, 
And yearning heart thy friend, 
Love to its grave doth tend. 
All gifts below, save truth, but grow 
Towards an end, 



THE FOLLOWING SONNETS WERE WRITTEN FOR ONE WHO ASKED 
AN EXPLANATION OF THE PRECEDING POEM. 

EXPLANATION. 

C. M. 

When thou hast lured the lightning from the sky, 
Swift be thy hand to bind the subtle power : — 

Rather at once with unspent energy 

Guide its full stroke on what it should devour, 

Or bid it glide at once where thou wouldst try 
Its gentler influence on herb or flower. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 11 

So words of fire from mightier spirits caught 
Brook not expounding, and but scarce will yield 

Their meaning to slow test and questioning thought, 

But grasp them with a hand and eye well taught 
At once the unwasted element to wield, 

And deeds of unknown wonder shall be wrought. 
But we with palsied hands, and eyelids sealed, 

Perchance may find our best attempt is nought. 



DISTINCTION. 

Is love then bounded ? May we not adore 

His Image who created us ? Not love 

In freedom and in fulness ? Must we move 

For ever by cold rule, and close the door 

Whene'er our hearts some kindlier instinct prove ? 

No law so harsh is given us from above : 

Yet do all gifts, save Truth, for ever tend 

To perish, and in love itself there meet 
Such diverse elements, that one may fleet 
And lose itself in air, the other blend 

Still unconfusedly in union sweet 
With life immortal, and more gladly greet 
Him at Reaven-gate, whom hence with tears we send, 
Than where with mortal eye friend answered friend. 



12 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



IDOLATRY. 

If Heaven-born spirits by love's earthly part 

To idol-worship slavishly are bent, 

Kind is the stroke that frees the charmed heart, 

Though oft it seem as if in anger sent : 

For love that hath no heavenward intent 

Is falsehood, and a vain beguiling art, 

That cheats us of true bliss : yea, though it seem 

A shadow of the purest holiest joy, 

Still downward the unwary 'twill decoy. 

The best that love can give to love supreme 

Is but a grave, and if the soul employ 

There its best energies, can we choose but deem 

Such grovelling hope 'tis mercy to destroy 

And quench the love that could vain things esteem. 

THE GRAVE. 

Yes ! easily the spirit might forego 

The best that earth can of her own provide — 

But is all friendship earthly ? Who hath tried 

And will not, even indignant, answer No ? 

Spirit with spirit in bonds eternal tied 

Gives Truth, and Truth receives even here below— 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 13 

Yet how can this be known ? since the dark wave 

Of cold oblivion sweeps between our shore 

And that where Truth abideth evermore — 

Nay ! we forget not Him, who came to save 

Not us alone, but all of good we have : 

He passed from sight when man had learnt to adore ; 

When we upon His Image set due store, 

Love shall with Christ keep Sabbath in the grave. 



&f)ittJ Sunfcag in &frhcnt. 



THE CLOUDS. 

Rev. William Crosswell. 

For, behold, the Lord cometh out of His place. 

Isaiah xxvi. 21. 

I cannot look above and see 

Yon high-piled pillowy mass 
Of evening clouds, so swimmingly 

In gold and purple pass, 
And think not, Lord, how Thou wast seen 

On Israel's desert way, 
Before them, in Thy shadowy screen 

Pavilion'd all the day ! 



14 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Or, of these robes of gorgeous hue 

Which the Redeemer wore, 
When ravish 'd from His followers' view, 

Aloft His flight he bore ; 
W 7 hen lifted, as on mighty wing 

He curtained His ascent, 
And wrapt in clouds, went triumphing 

Above the firmament. 

Is it a trail of that same pall 

Of many coloured dyes, 
That high above, o'ermantling all, 

Hangs midway down the skies ; 
Or borders of those sweeping folds 

Which shall be all unfurl'd 
About the Saviour, when He holds 

His judgment on the world ? 

For in like manner as he went, 

My soul, hast thou forgot ? 
Shall be His terrible descent, 

When man expecteth not ! 
Strength, Son of Man, against that hour, 

Be to our spirils given, 
When Thou shalt come again with power, 

Upon the clouds of Heaven ! 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 15 



FOR ONE THAT HEARS HIMSELF MUCH PRAISED. 

George Wither. 

But with me it is a very small thing that 1 should be judged 
of you or of man's judgment. — 1 Cor. iv. 3. 

My sins and follies, Lord, by Thee 

From others hidden are, 
That such good words are spoke of me, 

As now and then I hear. 
For sure if others knew me such, 

Such as myself I know ; 
I should have been disprais'd as much 

As I am praised now. 

By me some good perhaps hath been 

Perform'd in public view ; 
But what corruptions are within, 

Asham'd I am to show. 
My brutish lusts, my secret pride, 

My follies yet unshown, 
Which from Thy sight 1 cannot hide, 

To others are unknown. 



16 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

The praise, therefore, which I have heard, 

Delights not so my mind, 
As those things make my heart afraid, 

Which in myself I find. 
And I had rather to be blam'd, 

So I were blameless made, 
Than for much virtue to be fam'd, 

When I no virtues had. 

Though slanders to an innocent 

Sometimes do bitter grow, 
Their bitterness procures content 

If clear himself he know. 
And when a virtuous man hath err'd, 

If praised himself he hear, 
It makes him grieve, and more afraid, 

Than if he slander'd were. 

Lord, therefore, make my heart upright, 

Whate'er my deeds be seen, 
And righteous rather in Thy sight 

Than in the world's esteem. 
And, if aught good appears to be, 

In any act of mine, 
Let thankfulness be found in me, 

And all the praise be Thine. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 



17 




WINTER. 

A MORNING HYMN. 

George Wither. 
Man goeth forth to his work and to his labour until the evening. 
-Psalm civ. 23. 

Since thou hast added now, O God ! 

Unto my life another day, 
And giv'st me leave to walk abroad, 

And labour in my lawful way, 
My walks and works with me begin, 
Conduct me forth and bring me in. 



In every power my soul enjoys 
Internal virtues to improve ; 

In every sense that she employs, 
In her external works to move ; 

Bless her, O God, and keep me sound 

From outward harm and inward wound. 
c3 



18 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Let sin nor Satan's fraud prevail, 
To make mine eye of reason blind, 

Or Faith, or Hope, or Love to fail, 
Or any virtues of the mind ; 

But more and more let them increase, 

And bring me to mine end in peace. 

Such courses let my feet forbear ; 

Keep Thou my hands from doing wrong ; 
Let not ill counsels pierce mine ear, 

Nor wicked words defile my tongue. 
And keep the windows of each eye, 
That no strange lust climb in thereby. 

But guard Thou safe my heart in chief, 
That neither hate, revenge, nor fear, 

Nor vain desire, vain joy, or grief, 
Obtain command or dwelling there : 

And, Lord, with every saving grace, 

Still true to Thee, maintain that place. 

From open wrongs, from secret hates, 
Preserve me likewise, Lord, this day, 

From slanderous tongues, from wicked mates, 
From every danger in my way : 

My goods to me secure Thou too, 

And prosper all the works I do. 






CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 19 

So till the evening of this morn, 
My time shall then so well be spent, 

That when the twilight shall return 
I may enjoy it with content ; 

And to Thy praise and honour say, 

That this hath prov'd a happy day. 



AN EVENING HYMN. 

Hickes" Devotions. 

I will lay me down in peace, and take my rest, for it is Thou 
Lord, only, that makest me dwell in safety. — Psalm iv. 9. 

Lord, now the time returns, 

For weary man to rest, 
And lay aside those pains and cares 

With which our day's oppress'd : 

Or rather change our thoughts 

To more concerning cares ; 
How to redeem our misspent time, 

With sighs, and tears, and prayers ; 

How to provide for Heaven, 

That place of rest and peace ; 
Where < ur full joys shall never wane, 

Our pleasures never cease. 



20 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Blest be Thy love, dear Lord, 
That taught us this sweet way, 

Only to love Thee for Thyself, 
And for that love, obey. 

O Thou, our souls' chief hope ! 

We to thy mercy fly, 
Where'er we are* Thou canst protect, 

Whate'er we need, supply. 

Whether we sleep or wake, 

To thee we both resign ; 
By night we see, as well as day, 

If Thy light on us shine. 

Whether we live or die, 
Both we submit to Thee ; 

In death we live, as well as life, 
If thine in death we be. 




CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 



21 




THE WINTER MORNING. 



S. D. 



He hath made everything beautiful in his time. 

Eccles. iii. 11. 



Slowly the winter's morning dawns, and through the 

icy pane 
The sun can scarcely glimmer, as its faint light 

comes again ; 
Dimly struggling through the frosty haze, or heavy 

clouds of snow, 
While fast the flakes begin to fall, and keen the north 

winds blow. 



22 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

All seems so dark and dreary now, that scarce we 

think it true, 
That summer suns once rose so bright in skies so 

calm and blue ; 
And green the grass and fair the flowers, where only 

snow we see, 
And where the winds are roaring now, the lark sang 

merrily. 

And often as we ope our eyes to such a scene 
forlorn, 

We idly turn to sleep again, and shun the wintry 
morn : 

Saying, why so early rise when all is dreary to be- 
hold, 

And wake so soon from pleasant dreams to find all 
dark and cold ? 

Coward thoughts will us assail, but let us yield to 
them no more ; 

Let us spring at once from slumber, when our time 
of rest is o'er ; 

Nor wait for summer morn, when warm the sun- 
beams o'er us fall, 

But learn in every season thus, to follow duty's call. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 23 

And when, the struggle over, we have braved the 

winter's cold, 
How oft we find that joy springs forth we looked not 

to behold : 
Bright shines perhaps the wintry moon, and never 

seemed so fair, 
Or midst the clouds, dispersing now. stars glitter 

here and there. 

Then slowly as they fade away, we see the red streak 

glow 
That marks where soon the rising sun will shine 

above the snow ; 
And when through boughs frost-covered, the first 

gleaming rays are seen, 
We think no fairer dawn could be, midst summer 

leaves of green. 

Then, ready for the well-known hour, can pleasure 

be more sweet, 
While by the brightly blazing fire, each doth each 

other greet ; 
Whom still the happy childhood's home in loving 

group hath bound, 
Or the glad and holy Christmas time, once more 

hath gathered round. 



24 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Then never turn we from the tasks which changing 
seasons bring, 

Or waste the go d, or miss the joy, that doth from 
each one spring. 

So all more bright and gladsome, wintry hours will 
pass away, 

And all more sweetly will return, the long fair sum- 
mer's day. 

THE WINTER'S DAY. 

(From the German.) S. D. 

The light of the Lord leadeth him.— Ecclus. i. 29. 

How pure thy beauty, O thou wintry day ! 

Whose brightness comes from heavenly beams alone, 

Upon the frost-bound earth, 

All stir and motion o'er. 

The sunbeams with their greeting calm, uplift 
My spirit, — not like an enchantress' kiss, 

Wild throbbings to awake 

Within the fevered veins. 

The spotless snow, that on the meadow lies, 
Nurtures no serpent-snare beneath its veil. 

That stillest blue of heaven 

Conceals no coming storm. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 



25 



I revelled once in all the summer's glow, 
In balmy breath of flowers ; my spirit then 

Rested on earth alone ; 

But all hath passed away. 

And now I would not seek a higher bliss 
Than, all from earth set free, to stand as now 

In the fair light of heaven, 

So pure, so bright, so cold. 




26 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



St. Cfjomas's Bag. 



A WINTER THOUGHT. 



H. 



Now, therefore, ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but 
fellow-citizens with the Saints, and of the household of God. 

Ephes. ii. 19. 

We, housed safe, 
In happy covert rest, 
Whilst rude winds roar, and angry surges chafe 
Against our fenced nest : 
Why bask we thus secure, 
Whilst those without our ark rough tempest's shock 
endure ? 

Children of love ! 
Saved the o'erwhelming night, 
Chose from the world to range safe worlds above, 
Blest in your own despite ! 

Ye, while bleak storms howl wild, 
Think of the outward waste, and pray for error's 
child ? 



CHURCH POETKY FOR THE YEAR. 27 



THE WINTER RIVER. 

Rev. F. W. Faber. 

Whether a man be rich or poor, if he have a good heart 
toward the Lord, he shall at all times rejoice with a cheerful 
countenance. — Ecclus. xxvi. 4. 

Low spirits are a sin, — a penance given 

To over-talking and unthoughtful mirth. 

There is nor high nor low in holiest heaven, 

Nor yet in hearts where heaven hath hallowed earth. 

Still there are some whose growth is won in strife, 

And who can bear hot suns through all their life : 

But rather for myself would I forego 

High tides of feeling and brief moods of power, 

Than share those languors with the showy flower, 

Which the shade-loving herb doth never know. 

O Brathay ! wisely in thy winter grounds, 

Wisely and sweetly are thy currents chiming, 

Thus happily to every season timing 

The same low waters and the same low sounds. 




28 



DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



JFouxti) Sunfcag in atrbent. 



SONNET ON PRAYER. 

Rev. R. C. Trench. 

In every thing, by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving, 
let your requests be made known unto God. 

And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall 
keep your hearts and minds, through Christ Jesus. — Phil. iv. 6, 7. 

Lord, what a change within us one short hour 
Spent in Thy presence will avail to make ; 
What burdens lighten, what temptations slake ! 

What parched ground refresh, as with a shower ! 

We kneel, and all around us seems to lower ; 
We rise, and all the distant and the near 
Stand forth in sunny outline, bright and clear ; 

We kneel, how weak, we rise, how full of power ; 
Why, therefore, do we do ourselves this wrong, 
Or others, that we are not always strong ? 

That we are ever overborne with care, 
That we should ever weak or heartless be, 

Anxious or troubled, when with us is Prayer, 

And joy and strength and courage are with Thee 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 29 



DELAY. 

(From the German.) S. D. 

Let your moderation be known unto all men. — Phil. iv. 5. 
When he calleth them, they say here we be. — Bar. iii. 34. 

Be it joy or sorrow 

Which lieth in thy way, 
Remove not to the morrow 

What cometh for to-day ; 
But whatsoe'er God giveth, rise and take straightway. 

Deferrest thou the sweet ? 

'Tis gone thy grasp before ; 
The pain thou wilt not meet, 

The longer presseth sore, 
Since for all bitter fear thou hast but time the more. 

So when cometh either, 

Seek no vain delay, 
Good it is for neither, 
Pleasure will decay, 
And double weight of pain will sorrow on thee lay. 
d3 



30 



DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



Pluck when the call thou hearest, 

Ere it fades, the flower ; 
Do the thing thou fearest, 
So the fear is o'er, 
And thus a double bloom springs forth from plea- 
sure's store. 

Never joy or sorrow 

Which cometh for to-day, 
Remove unto the morrow, 
But rise to take straightway 
That which the hand of God doth now before thee 
lay. 




CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 31 



Rev. W. Crosswell. 

The glory of Lebanon shall come unto thee, the fir tree, the 
pine tree, and the box together, to beautify the place of my sanc- 
tuary. — Isaiah ix. 13. 

The thickly woven boughs they wreathe 

Through every hallowed fane, 
A soft reviving odour breathe 

Of summer's gentle reign ; 
And rich the ray of mild green light 

Which like an emerald's glow, 
Comes struggling through the latticed height 

Upon the crowds below. 

O, let the streams of solemn thought 

Which in those temples rise, 
From deeper sources spring than aught 

Dependent on the skies : 
Then, though the summer's pride departs, 

And winter's withering chill 
Iiests on the cheerless woods, our hearts 

Shall be unchanging still. 



32 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



LADY MARY. 

Rev. Henry Alford. 

There shall be a resurrection of the dead.— Acts xxiv. 15. 

Thou wert fair, Lady Mary, 

As the lily in the sun ; 
And fairer yet thou mightest be, 

Thy youth was but begun : 
Thine eye was soft and glancing, 

Of the deep bright blue ; 
And on the heart thy gentle words 

Fell lighter than the dew. 

They found thee, Lady Mary, 

With thy palms upon thy breast, 
Even as thou hadst been praying, 

At thine hour of rest : 
The cold pale moon was shining 

On thy cold pale cheek ; 
And the morn of the Nativity 

Had just begun to break. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 33 

They carved thee, Lady Mary, 

All of pure white stone, 
With thy palms upon thy breast, 

In the chancel all alone : 
And I saw thee when the winter moon 

Shone on thy marble cheek, 
When the morn of the Nativity 

Had just begun to break. 

But thou kneelest, Lady Mary, 

With thy palms upon thy breast, 
Among the perfect spirits 

In the land of rest : 
Thou art even as they took thee 

At thine hour of prayer, 
Save the glory that is on thee 

From the sun that shineth there. 

We shall see thee, Lady Mary, 

On that shore unknown, 
A pure and happy angel 

In the presence of the throne. 
We shall see thee when the light divine 

Plays freshly on thy cheek, 
And the Resurrection morning 

Hath just begun to break. 



34 



DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 




Christmas 10 ag. 



s. R. 



Thy God hath anointed thee with the oil of gladness above thy 
fellows.— Heb. i. 9. 

Though rude winds usher thee, sweet day, 

Though clouds thy face deform, 
Though nature's grace is swept away 

Before thy sleety storm ; 
E'en in thy sombrest wintry vest, 
Of blessed days thou art most blest. 



Nor frigid air nor gloomy morn 

Shall check our jubilee ; 
Bright is the day when Christ was born, 

No sun need shine but He ; 
Let roughest storms their coldest blow, 
With love of Him our hearts shall glow. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 35 

Inspired with high and holy thought, 

Fancy is on the wing ; 
It seems as to mine ear it brought 

Those voices carolling, 
Voices through heaven and earth that ran, 
Glory to God, good-will to man. 

I see the shepherds gazing wild 

At those fair spirits of light ; 
I see them bending o'er the child 

With that untold delight 
Which marks the face of those who view 
Things but too happy to be true. 

There, in the lowly manger laid, 

Incarnate God they see, 
He stoops to take, through spotless maid, 

Our frail humanity ; 
Son of high God, creation's Heir, 
He leaves His heaven to raise us there. 

Through Him, Lord, we are born anew, 

Thy children once again, 
Oh, day by day our hearts renew, 

That thine we may remain ; 
And angel-like, may all agree, 
One sweet and holy family. 



36 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Oft as this joyous morn doth come 

To speak The Saviour's love, 
Oh, may it bear our spirits home, 

Where He now reigns above ; 
That day which brought Him from the skies, 
So man restores to Paradise. 

Then let winds usher thee, sweet day, 

Let clouds thy face deform, 
Though nature's grace is swept away 

Before thy sleety storm ; 
E'en in thy sombrest wintry vest, 
Of blessed davs thou art most blest. 



CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

William Austin. 

Fear not, for behold I bring you good tidings of great joy, 
which shall be to all people.— St. Luke ii. 10. 

My soul, why art thou thus deject ? 
And why art thou disturbed in me ? 
Trust thou in God ; his aid expect, 
Who is the only help for thee, 
And doth thy sighs and sorrows see. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 37 

Oh ! that He once the heavens would reave, 
And so come down : for prophets tell, 
Behold a virgin shall conceive 
A Son, fore-named Emmanuel, 
Who shall descend, with us to dwell. 

And see ! that heavenly news comes down, 
That joy to all men shall afford ; 
This day is born, in David's town, 
A Saviour, which is Christ the Lord, 
According to His holy word. 

This is the day the Lord hath made ; 
Let us rejoice therein with mirth ; 
And be not thou, my soul, so sad, 
But, since thy God is born on earth, 
Sing Hallelujah at His birth. 




38 DAYS AND SEASONS, OB 



ANOTHER CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

William Austin. 

For unto you is born this day, in the city of David, a Saviour, 
which is Christ the Lord. — St. Luke ii. 11. 

Hark ! hear you not a cheerful noise, 

That makes heaven's vault ring shrill with joys ? 

See where, like stars, bright angels fly, 

And thousand heavenly echoes cry ; 

So loud they chant, that down to earth, 

Innocent children hear their mirth ; 

And sing with them what none can say, 

For joy their Prince is born this day; 

Their Prince, their God, like one of those, 

Is made a child, and wrapt in clothes. 

All this is in time's fulness done, 

We have a Saviour, God a Son. 

Heaven, earth, babes, shepherds, angels sing ; 

Oh ! never was such carolling. 

Hark ! how they all sing at His birth, 

Glory to God and peace on earth. 

Up then, my soul, thy part desire, 

And sing, though but a bass, in this sweet choir. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 39 



St Stephen's Sag. 

Hickes' Devotions. 

Wisdom exalteth her children, and layeth hold of them that 
seek her. — He that holdeth her fast shall inherit glory. — Ecclus. 
iv. 11, 13. 

Awake, my soul, chase from thine eyes 
This drowsy sloth, and quickly rise ; 

Up, and to work apace ; 
No less than kingdoms are prepared, 
And endless bliss for their reward, 

Who finish well their race. 

'Tis not so poor a thing to be 

Servants to heaven, dear Lord, and Thee, 

As this fond world believes ; 
Not even here, where oft the wise 
Are most exposed to injuries, 

And friendless virtue grieves. 

Sometimes Thy hand lets gently fall 
A little drop, that sweetens all 

The bitter of our cup ; 
O what hereafter shall we be, 
When we shall have whole draughts of Thee 

Brimful, and drink them up ! 



40 DAYS AND SEASONS, Oil 

Say, happy souls, whose thirst now meets 
The fresh and living stream of sweets 

Which spring from that blest throne ; 
Did you not find this true e'en here, 
Do you not find it truer there, 

Now heaven is all your own ? 

" O yes, the sweets we taste exceed 
" All we can say or you can read ; 

" They fill and never cloy : 
" On earth our cup was sweet, but mixed ; 
" Here all is pure, refined, and fixed, 

" All quintessence of joy." 

Hear'st thou, my soul, what glorious things 
The Church of heaven in triumph sings 

Of their blest life above ? 
Cheer thy faint hopes, and bid them live ; 
All these thy God to thee will give, 

If thou embrace His love. 

Great God, of rich rewards, who thus 

Hast crowned Thy saints, and wilt crown us ! 

As both to Thee belong, 
O may we both together sing 
Eternal praise to Thee our King, 

In one eternal song. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 41 



Sbt S ofm's 29ag, 

LOVE. 

Rev. I. Williams. 

Blessed are they that do His commandments, that they may 
have right to the tree of life, and may enter in through the gates 
into the city. — Rev. xxii. 14. 

Who would hoard earth's treasure 
When he heaven may gain ? 
e3 



42 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Who would love vain pleasure 
When he may attain 
Joys at God's right hand, for ever free from pain ? 

Who would covet glory 

Here the dead among, 
Or renown in story, 

When th' archangel's tongue 
Might pronounce his praises endless years along ? 

Here, where death must sever, 

Who would lean on love, 
When he may for ever 
Have his God above, 
Infinitely deeper than his thoughts can prove ? 

Love is like the ocean, 

Ever fresh and strong, 
Birth and life and motion, 
Speed and strength and song, 
Which, the world surrounding, keeps it green and 
young. 

Love is ever flowing, 

Flowing ever down ; 
Love through all lands going 

From the heavenly throne, 
God's eternal city doth with gladness crown. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 43 

Come, thou soul that sinkest 

On the desert plain, 
Here of streams thou drinkest, 

Ne'er to thirst again, 
Which shall thy resting feet and soul sustain. 

Love on earth that grieveth 

Tears of pain and shame, 
God in heaven receiveth, 

Covering it from blame, 
With th' enfolding mantle of th' Almighty Name. 

Love for ever singeth, 

Borne on glad desire, 
And the blue deep wingeth, 
Like a plume of fire, 
As to heaven it soareth higher still and higher. 

Love for ever sinketh, 

In his silent hour, 
And of sorrow drinketh, 

Like a dew-weighed flower, 
As to earth it boweth lower still and lower. 

Love for ever sigheth, 
Banish'd from his God, 



44 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Still his spirit trieth 
On the path He trod, 
Still with hope undying cherisheth His rod. 

Love his longings weaneth 

From the things of sight, 
And for ever leaneth 

On immortal might, 
And in spirit liveth a stern anchorite. 

Waiting on what waiteth 

Upon God above, 
Hating that which hateth, 

Loving all that love, 
Moving as his spirit the great God doth move. 

Love is ever praying,. 

Nor doth count the chime ; 
Love is ever weighing 

Heaven and Hell with Time, 
Nor by casuist's measure notes and numbers crime. 

And when this earth faileth 

Love is strong as death, 
Yea, o'er death prevaileth ; 

Love, like vital breath 
Freed from fleshly claims, the spirit cherisheth. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 45 

Cf)e I&olg Innocents, 

SALVETE FLORES MARTYRUM. 

Anon. 

These were redeemed from among men, being the first fruits 
unto God and to the Lamb. — Rev. xiv. 4. 

Hail, flow'rets of the Martyr band, 
Cropped by an unrelenting hand ; 
Whose sweetness ere the prime of day 
By sudden blast was swept away ; 
First victims of satanic hate ; 
Meek heralds of your Saviour's fate ; 
Lambs of the flock, foredoomed to bleed, 
And win at once the victor's meed ; 
Unconscious, innocently gay, 
E'en at the Altar's foot ye play ; 
And snatch the palms that bend around 
Your brows with starry chaplets crowned. 

Oh ! Herod, thou hast shed in vain 
The guiltless blood — among the slain 
One still is absent, one alone, 
To scare thee on thy tottering throne. 
Amidst a thousand streaming eyes, 
And orphaned mothers' frantic cries, 
The Virgin's Babe thy steel defies. 



46 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

So Moses type of Him to come, 
Who led to his appointed home 
The Hebrew through the desert wild — 
So he, the heaven protected child, 
When haughty Pharaoh's foul decree 
Smote the young branch of Israel's tree, 
Found refuge from an early grave, 
Borne in his ark on Egypt's wave. 



TO A CHILD IN PRAYER. 



B. 



Think of the Lord with a good heart, and in simplicity of heart 
seek him.— Wis. i. 1. 

Pray on, sweet child, though gladness now 
Doth shine upon thy open brow, 
And in thy heart Hope's gentle voice 
Is bidding thee rejoice, — 
Yet on that brow the clouds may pass, 
Like shadows on the flowery grass. 
And in thy breast some dream of ill 
Hope's quiet melody may kill. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 47 

Thy thoughtless eyes are clear and bright 

In their purple April light ; 

And each gleeful look doth speak 

Of gentle thoughts and feelings meek ; 

And wanton joy, that only sees 

The golden blossoms on life's trees, 

Thinking upon the dragon never 

Which guardeth those glittering trees for ever. 

Now thy feet are blithe and gay, 
Dancing the sunny hours away, 
Upon the thymy hill, or deep 
In the woody glens, where creep 
The birds the heather bloom among, 
Cheering the silence with their song. 
Alas ! dear child, the music sweet 
That dwelleth round thy feet, 
May all be dead and past away, 
Ere dawn another summer-day, 
And on thine eyes the dust may lay ; 

Then watch and pray ! 

Thy heart is like a blessed shrine, 
For offerings and prayers divine ; 
While meek-eyed Purity doth wait 
For ever at the gate, 
Watching that no dream of sin 
May creep that sacred place within. 



48 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Alas ! alas ! beloved child, 

The charmer's voice hath oft beguiled 

A spirit beautiful as thee, 

With its enchanted harmony ; 

And the light of April years 

Has faded in a night of tears. 

I would not shade thine eyes with sorrow 

By talking to thee of to-morrow ; 

But since the flower which bloometh sweetest 

Ever does decay the fleetest, 

And the gladdest songs, like roses, 

Have their mourning closes, 

Oh, therefore, through each summer's day, 

Send up to heaven thy thankful lay ; 

Dear child, watch and pray ! 




CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 49 



iPttst Sinv&ag after CJjrtstmas, 

Anon. 



O Lord God of Hosts, God of Israel, thou that dwellest be- 
tween the cherubim, Thou art the God, even Thou alone, of all 
the kingdoms of the earth ; thou hast made heaven and earth. 

Isaiah xxxvii. 16. 

When from the gray church tower 
At day's most solemn hour, 

The sound of evening bells in tremulous motion 
Now sinks, now rises high, 
As float the breezes by, 

Like changing waves upon the azure ocean, 
When the sun flings his latest fires 
On distant mountain tops and consecrated spires ; 

O ! then the mind of man 
Delights afar to scan 

The track of ages that have gone before him ; 
And visions of the past 
Crowd on his memory fast, 

And throw a spell of dreamy rapture o'er him : 
Then is the moment, then the hour, 
To mark religion's course and feel her heavenly power : 

F 



50 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

To watch with eager eye 
The flood of time roll by 

And woo those scenes to stay whose features win us, 
Until our lips exclaim, 
Breathing His sacred name, 

" 'Tis the divinity that stirs within us ! 
And Thou, O ! Lord, who mad'st the sun, 
And moon and stars and earth — Thy holy will be 
done." 

To see the dewy star 
In the purple west afar, 

When day is o'er and twilight dubious lingers — 
When halcyon stillness reigns 
O'er darkening hills and plains, 

And night the curtain draws with holy fingers ; 
To feel there is a God indeed, 
And with delighted soul His holy Word to read. 

How blest the happy lot 
Of many a humble cot 

To see the Sabbath sun through lattice breaking, 
And each effulgent ray 
That gilds a summer day, 

With dazzling tints his brilliant sky-path streaking, 
To feel there is a God indeed, 
And then in evening time His precious Word to read. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 51 

All men in summer hours 
When Nature decks her bowers, 

Their great Creator in His works admiring, 
The life of man should trace 
In Nature's varied face, 

From cradled infancy to age expiring ; 
And feel there is a God indeed, 
And then with fervent joy His holy Word should read. 

O ! listen to the song 

Yon branches green among, 

On the hushed air its liquid music pouring ; 
And think ye not with me 
That in that melody 

There speaks the placid tone of one adoring ? 
Certes there is a God indeed, 
And in His holy book with worship we will read. 

Lo ! in the crimsoned west, 
Sinking on ocean's breast, 

Lingers the orb of day, his journey ended, 
And on yon lowering cloud, 
By its own grandeur bowed, 

He cast his parting beam so rich and splendid ! 
Yes ! Nature points to God the Lord, 
And hand in hand she goes with His most sacred Word. 



52 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Ye men whose peaceful life, 
Remote from popular strife 

Is spent with Nature in your own vocation — 
Who see her sylvan charms 
Round villages and farms, 

And pay to God and her your admiration : 
As are the Father, Holy Spirit, and Son, 
So are the Bible, God and Nature three in one. 

Then bless the Lord of Heaven 
For all that he has given, 

Both rich and poor wherever ye are dwelling : 
Let Christian charity 
Your constant watchword be, 

And worship Nature's God with bosoms swelling : 
All earth adores Him — fountain, flower and bird ; 
They speak of God to them that love His holy Word. 




CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 53 



CHRISTMAS ROSE. 

S. R. 

She is not afraid of the snow. — Prov. xxxi. 21. 

Right dear to me, as well may be, 

That clear and even mind ; 
So temperate in prosperity, 

In sorrow firm and kind ! 

To see her on life's holidays 

How mirthfully looks she ; 
While all along its common ways 

Who fares so modestly ? 

Her heart, it dwells in simpleness, 

Nor can she veil the light 
That beams from one so formed to bless 

Each season, dark or bright. 

She was not changed when sorrow came 

That awed the sternest men ; 
It rather seemed, she kept her flame 

To comfort us till then. 

f3 



54 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

But sorrow passed, and others smiled, 
With happiness once more ; 

And she drew back, — the Spirit mild 
She still had been before. 

Lady, thou mind'st me of a flower, 
Each child of nature knows, 

Possess'd like thee of rarest power, — 
My steadfast Christmas rose. 

All through the year 'tis evergreen, 

In Winter bright alone, 
It shrinks when Spring's gay tribe is seen, 

And blushes to be gone. 



NEW YEAR'S EVE. 

Rev. H. Alford. 

Keep yourselves in the love of God, looking for the mercy of 
our Lord Jesus Christ unto eternal life.— Jude 21. 

To-morrow — 'tis an idle sound, 

Tell me of no such dreary thing, 
A new land, whither I am bound, 

After strange wandering. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 

What care I if bright blossoms there 
Unfold, and sunny be the field ; 

If laded boughs in summer air 
Their pulpy fruitage yield ? 

While deck to-day my pleasant bower 
Upon my own loved mountain side, 

The azure periwinkle flower 
And violet deep-eyed ? 

Tell me not of to-morrow, calm 
In His great hand I would abide, 

Who fills my present hour with balm, 
And trust whate'er betide. 



THE COURSE OF TIME. 

Sir Walter Scott. 

All go unto one place, all are of the dust, and all turn to 
dust again — Eccles. iii. 20. 

Time rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore, 
Who danced our infancy upon their knee, 

And told our marvelling boyhood legends store, 
Of their strange ventures happ'd by land or sea ; 



56 



DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



How are they blotted from the things that be ; 

How few, all weak and wither'd of their force, 
Wait on the verge of dark eternity, 

Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse, 
To sweep them from our sight ! Time rolls his cease- 
less course. 







CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 



57 




f*^ 



Ctr cum cts ton. 



AFFLICTION. 



George Herbert. 



In whom also ye are circumcised with the circumcision made 
without hands, in putting off the body of the sins of the flesh, by 
the circumcision of Christ. — Col. ii. 11. 



When first thou didst entice to Thee my heart, 

I thought the service brave ; 
So many joys I writ down for my part ! 

Besides what I might have 
Out of my stock of natural delights, 
Augmented with Thy gracious benefits. 



58 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

I looked on Thy furniture so fine, 

And made it fine to me ; 
Thy glorious household-stuff did me entwine, 

And 'tice me unto Thee. 
Such stars I counted mine ; both heaven and earth 
Paid me my wages in a world of mirth. 

What pleasures could I want, whose King I serv'd ? 

Where joys my fellows were ? 
Thus argued into hope, my thoughts reserv'd 

No place for grief or fear : 
Therefore, my sudden soul caught at the place, 
And made her youth and fierceness seek Thy face. 

At first, Thou gav'st me milk and sweetnesses, 

I had my wish and way ; 
My days were strew'd with flowers and happiness, 

There was no month but May. 
But with my years sorrow did twist and grow, 
And made a party unawares for woe. 

My flesh began unto my soul, in pain, 

" Sicknesses cleave my bones ; 
Consuming agues dwell in every vein, 

And tune my breath to groans." 
Sorrow was all my soul, I scarce believed, 
Till grief did tell me roundly, that I lived. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 59 

When I got health Thou took'st away my life ; 

And more ; for my friends die ; 
My mirth and edge were lost ; a blunted knife 

Was of more use than I. 
Thus thin and lean, without a fence or friend, 
I was blown through with every storm and wind. 

Whereas my birth and spirits rather took 

The way that takes the town ; 
Thou didst betray me to a lingering book, 

And wrap me in a gown. 
I was entangled in a world of strife, 
Before I had the power to change my life. 

Yet, for I threatened oft the siege to raise, 

Not simpering all mine age, — 
Thou often didst, with academic praise, 

Melt and dissolve my rage. 
I took thy sweeten'd pill, till I came where 
I could not go away, nor persevere. 

Yet, lest perchance I should too happy be, 

In my unhappiness. 
Turning my purge to food, Thou throwest me 

Into more sicknesses. 
Thus doth Thy power cross-bias me ; not making 
Thine own gift good, yet me from my -ways taking. 



60 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Now I am here, what thou wilt do with me 

None of my books will show : 
I read, and sigh, and wish I were a tree, 

For sure then I should grow 
To fruit or shade : at least some bird would trust 
Her household to me, and I should be just. 

Yet, though Thou troublest me, I must be meek ; 

In meekness must be stout ; 
Well, I will change the service, and go seek 

Some other master out. 
Ah ! my dear God ! though I am clean forgot, 
Let me not love Thee if I love Thee not. 



THE PERSIAN CYCLAMEN. 

S. D. 

The Lord God planted a garden eastward in Eden.— Gen. ii. 8. 

Art thou once more unfolding thus thy blossoms pale 

and meek, 
Thy tender flowers, that seem a care so loving to 

bespeak ? 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 61 

That form of fragile loveliness — how plainly doth it 

say, 
Soon will its gentle life be o'er, soon will it fade 

away. 
So thoughts of sorrow ever wake with thee to life 

again ; 
Yet soothing is their sadness, — sweet, O sweet, their 

very pain. 

Thy fair frail buds thou openest in depth of winter 

time, 
But this cold land is not thy home, thou seek'st a 

gentler clime ; 
And yet thy slender stem is firm, it resteth not on 

earth, 
It seems from earthly stain to rise, like one of higher 

birth ; 
Like one who ever yearneth from all touch of sin to 

flee, 
Meekly the pain enduring that must set the spirit 

free. 

The sunbeams passing o'er thee wake a flush of 

softest bloom, 
Such tender glow as lights the cheek fast hastening 

to the tomb. 



62 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

And like to thy transparent snow, the mien so pure 
and calm, 

And holy thoughts scarce utter'd, like thy faintly 
breathed balm. 

Awhile thy closed buds may droop, as though to sad- 
ness given, 

But as they ope they upward spring, as they would 
rise to heaven. 

Thou speakest of the loved and lost, nor would we 

shun thy voice, 
But such alone are not thy words, — thou biddest us 

rejoice. 
Thou tellest of thine Eastern land, and Eastward 

turn our eyes, 
Eastward we turn with ceaseless look, until the morn 

shall rise, 
Until the dawning light reveal the Paradise of rest, 
Where our lost flowers await us in the gardens of the 

blest. 




CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 63 



Second Simfcag after Christmas. 



THE FLOWER. 

George Herbert. 

And because ye are sons, God hath sent forth the Spirit of 
His Son into your hearts, crying, Abba Father. — Gal. iv. 6. 

How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean 
Are Thy returns ! ev'n as the flowers in spring ; 

To which, beside their own demean, 
The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring. 
Grief melts away, 
Like snow in May ; 
As if there were no such cold thing. 

Who would have thought my shrivell'd heart 
Could have recover'd greenness ? It was gone 

Quite under ground : as flowers depart 
To see their mother-root, when they have blown ; 
Where they, together, 
All the hard weather, 
Dead to the world, keep house unknown. 



64 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

These are Thy wonders, Lord of power ! 
Killing and quick'ning ; bringing down to hell, 

And up to heaven, in an hour ; 
Making a chiming of a passing-bell. 
We say amiss, 
' This, or that, is' 
Thy word is all ; if we could spell. 

Oh, that I once past changing were ; 
Fast in Thy paradise where no flower can wither ! 

Many a spring I shoot up fair, 
Offering at Heaven, growing and groaning thither ; 
Nor doth my flower 
Want a spring-shower ; 
My sins and I joining together. 

But, while I grow in a straight line, 
Still upwards bent, as if heaven were mine own, 

Thy anger comes and I decline. 

What frost to that ? What pole is not the zone 

Where all things burn, 

When Thou dost turn, 

And the least frown of Thine is shown ? 






CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 



65 



And now in age I bud again : 
After so many deaths I live and write : 

I once more smell the dew and rain, 
And relish versing. O, my only Light, 
It cannot be 
That I am he, 
On whom Thy tempests fell all night ! 



These are Thy wonders, Lord of love ! 
To make us see we are but flowers that glide. 
Which when we once can find and prove, 
Thou hast a garden for us where to 'bide, 
Who would be more 
Swelling through store, 
Forfeit their paradise by their pride. 




66 



DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 




3Spipf)ang. 



WESTERN MISSIONS. 

Arthur Cleveland Coxe. 

Then thou shalt see and flow together, and thine heart shall 
fear and be enlarged ; because the abundance of the sea shall be 
converted unto thee, the forces of the Gentiles shall come unto 
thee— Isaiah lx. 5. 



Lord, when Thou didst come from Heaven, 

Edom sought thee from afar, 
With her gold and incense given, 

By the leading of a star ; 
Westward then from Eden guiding, 

Was the light of Bethlehem shed ; 
Like the pillar'd blaze abiding 

O'er the wandering Hebrew's head. 






CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 67 

Westward still the world alluring, 

Hath the risen Day-star beamed, 
And, the sinking soul assuring, 

O'er the world's wide ocean streamed. 
Westward still, the midnight breaking, 

Westward still its light be poured ! 
Heathen Thy possession making, 

Utmost lands Thy dwelling, Lord ! 

Westward where from giant fountains, 

Oregon comes down in floods, 
Westward to Missouri's mountains, 

Or to wild Iowa's woods : 
Where the broad Arkansas goeth, 

Winding o'er savannahs wide ; 
Where, beyond old Huron, floweth 

Many a strong eternal tide. 

Westward where the wavy prairie 

Dark as slumbering ocean lies, 
Let Thy starlight Son of Mary, 

O'er the shadowed billows rise ! 
There be heard ye herald voices 

Till the Lord His glory shows, 
And the lonely place rejoices, 

With the bloom of Sharon's rose. 



bO DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Where the wilderness is lying, 

And the trees of ages nod, 
Westward, in the desert crying, 

Make a highway for our God. 
Westward — till the Church be kneeling 

In the forest aisles so dim, 
And the wild-wood arches pealing, 

With the people's holy hymn, 
» 

Westward still, oh Lord, in glory 

Be Thy banner'd cross unfurl'd, 
Till from vale to mountain hoary, 

Rolls the anthem round the world : 
Reign, oh reign o'er every nation, 

Reign, Redeemer, Father, King, 
And with songs of Thy salvation 

Let the wide creation ring. 

THE OFFERING OF THE POOR. 

Rev. William CrosswelU 

Lift up thine eyes round about and see ; all they gather 
themselves together, they come to thee. — Isaiah lx. 4. 

We come not with a costly store, 

O Lord, like them of old, 
The masters of the starry lore, 

From Ophir's shore of gold ; 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 69 

No weepings of the incense tree 

Are with the gifts we bring, 
No odorous myrrh of Araby 

Blends with our offering. 

But still our love would bring its best, 

A spirit keenly tried 
By fierce affliction's fiery test, 

And seven times purified : * 

The fragrant graces of the mind, 

The virtues that delight 
To give their perfume out, will find 

Acceptance in Thy sight. 



<ZT\ 




70 BAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



i/tot Suntrag after lEpipfjang. 



I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that 
ye present yourselves a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto 
God, which is your reasonable service. — Rom. xii. 1. 
ft 
In early days nor then alone, 

How little for life's end is done, 

What shadows, or else things as vain, 

Oft fill the heart and fret the brain. 

While Time and Grace, Truth and the Cross, 

Lie at our feet like arrant dross ! 

O, sin and shame ! that this should be 

With those who once through Grace were free, 

Had we but kept our first estate, 

In childish innocence so great, 

That liberty at which we went 

From forth the Holy Sacrament, 

When Flesh and World, and Satan too, 

Were crushed, and we were born anew. 
Enough ; ope now thine eyes, and see 

The things of this world as they be, 

Weigh days and years, weigh griefs and joys, 

What most delights thee and annoys, 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 71 

And measuring life's little span 

Bethink what means a Christian man. 

Take then a short but earnest view 

Of all thou hast that day to do, 

And while the morning sights unfold 

Rise up like God's great saint of old, 

And turning to the East thine eye, 

As the sun peers and mounts the sky, 

And marking well his fervent race, 

Urge to full strength thine own slack pace. 

Great joy, and godly 'tis to think, 

As fresh life from the thought we drink, 

That one more day before us lies, 

Where we our souls may exercise, 

To trample sin beneath our feet, 

To do Christ's will in all we meet, 

And quit ourselves like men, while we 

Do all our things in Charity, 

Making each turn of every day 

A point to trust, resign, obey. 

E'en so in Baptism, thou who die'st 
Dost rise again in Jesus Christ, 
To a new life ; all virtue then 
Shall mark thy ways with God and men, 
Each day's course be a path of light, 
A blessed sunset every night, 
And well thy calling shalt thou keep, 
At home, abroad, awake, asleep. 



72 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



£cconfc Suntias after iSpipfjang. 



RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY SCENES. 

D. S. W. 

Rejoichig in hope., patient in tribulation.— Rom. xii. 12. 
Which are a shadow of things to come. 

Scenes of my youth ! which through the mist of years 

Had faded into dimness, as I read, 

Ye rush upon my soul " in faint, fair hues," 

Such as no mortal limner painted, such 

As Fancy sketches in her star-lit halls, 

When she alone is waking. Forms of Truth 

Indeed are there, but o'er the naked limbs, 

And cold proportions, there is flung a robe 

Of rainbow tints, whose deep mysterious grace 

Is stolen from the Ideal. Oft I passed 

With heedless step, and cold or vacant eye, 

Through the rich woodland and the flowery vale, 

Hemmed in by rocky heights, beneath whose base 

The " chiding brook," clear as some mountain stream 

Of distant Caledon, for ever flows 

In beauty on, freshening the aldered bank 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. /£ 

Which lends it shade. But now the distant sound 

Of its faint murmur is upon my ear, 

Like music heard at midnight, which the pipe 

Of some lone watcher pours in summer hours 

On "the dull ear of night ;" and I could muse 

Till tears of fond regret for scenes long fled 

Steal to my eyes unbidden. Can it be 

That distance thus, and time, and fancy's glow, 

Combined, can touch the thrilling chord, to which 

The heart is wont to vibrate ; in the past, 

Can veil all harshness, all deformity. 

And live among the beautiful ? 'Tis so : 

Scenes of my youth, then hail ! hail ! for ye bring 

Visions of hope and freshness to the heart, 

Which long had ceased to feel your nameless power. 

Hail ! and farewell ! your scenes are still as fair 

As when, a thoughtless child and pensive youth, 

I drank your beauties in, and dreamt of deeds 

Of high emprise, which never were achieved 

By such as I ; but did I see you now, 

It were with strangers. Fallen beneath the scythe 

Of the great leveller is many a head, 

Which high upreared its noble front when last 

I wandered midst your shades, the great, the wise, 

The good, they for whom friendship wept, and love 

Bled in its inmost core. Well ! be it so : 

H 



74 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

We " weep not for the dead." There is a shore 

Where death is not ; and though I may regret, 

In the sad numbers of an idle lay, 

The visions of the past, 1 bow to Him, 

In humble thankfulness, whose chastening hand, 

With truest mercy armed, has taught me since 

A lesson, learnt not in the scenes of youth, 

" Softly to walk with God," in lowliest frame 

Of self-distrust, not with the lofty port 

Of conscious rectitude ; stretched near the cross 

Of Him who died there, and with helpless eye 

Pleading His will to save. And Death is not. 

These scenes shall fade with those who felt their 

charms, 
The brook shall cease to flow, the trees to wave, 
The linched rock to rear its rugged front, 
But man shall live, redeemed and chastened man, 
In fairer scenes than these, quaff " living" streams, 
And rest his weary head upon the " Rock," 
"Whose name is that " of Ages." 




CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 75 



Cfyrtr Suntrag after ISptpfjang. 

GO WHERE THE MOSSY ROCK. 

Arthur Cleveland Coxe. 

For ye shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace : the 
mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing, 
and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands. — Isaiah \v. 12. 

An altar of earth shalt thou make unto me. 

Go where the mossy rock shall be 

Thy nature-hallowed shrine, 
The leafy copse thy canopy, 

Its fringe the gadding vine ! 
There let the clusters round that blush, 

Be sacramental blood, 
And fountains by thy feet that gush 

Thy pure baptizing flood. 

There let the snowy lawn be spread 

Upon the turfy mound : 
There break the life bestowing bread, 

And bless the people round. 
There, the green bush thy chancel rail, 

Its cushioned floor the sod, 
Bid boldly to the sylvan pale 

The kneeling host of God. 



76 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Look up, and fretted vaults are there, 

And heaven itself shines through, 
Or evening is depictured fair, 

The starlight and the blue ! 
A temple never built by hands, 

And many a shadowed aisle, 
There — where the columned forests stand, 

Be thy cathedral pile ! 

There are full choir, and antiphon 

At lauds and vesper time, 
And every niche rings unison 

With priestly voice at prime : 
There, shall thy solitary soul 

Find out its cloister dim, 
With not the labouring organ's roll, 

But nature's gushing hymn. 

There the full flowers their odours fling 

To bid thee pour thy prayer, 
And vines their fragrant censers swing 

O'er all the hallowed air ; 
And sweet as old idolatries 

With eastern rites that blend, 
Yet harmless shall their incense rise, 

And thine to God ascend. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 77 

Go to the harvest-whitened west, 

Ye surpliced priests of God, 
In all the Christian armour drest, 

And with the Gospel shod : 
Go, for their feet are beautiful, 

That on the mountain stand, 
And more than music, musical, 

The watchman's voice at hand. 

Go, for the midnight wanes apace ; 

The Sun himself is nigh ! 
Go to the wild and lonely place, 

And in the desert cry. 
Go — and the greenwoods are thy fanes, 

Thine altars every sod ! 
Say to the wilderness He reigns 

Thy Saviour and thy God ! 

Lo ! where the unsent heralds run, 

Why wait Thy priests, O Lord ! 
These, that were bid from sun to sun 

To preach the Gospel word ? 
Oh, to thine harvest, Saviour, send 

The hosts of thine employ, 
To reap the ripened sheaves that bend, 

And shout them home with joy ! 
h 3 



78 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



A WINTER SCENE. 

& 

The hoary frost of heaven, Who hath gendered it ? — Job 
xxxviii. 29. 

There is a glorious burden on the trees 

Unlike the leafy honours which the spring 

Creates, unlike the autumnal mellowing 

On fruit and foliage thrown, ere yet the breeze 

Hath stirr'd the boughs and granted them release 

For annual duty done. For who can wear 

So bright a garland as doth Janiveer 

When misty vapours dense, at midnight freeze 

All o'er the leafless twigs, and morning's light 

Beams on the fairy frost-work. But how soon 

The glory fades away ! An hour is flown 

And all that fair creation overthrown 

By a scant sun-ray's warmth, is melted quite, 

And not a vestige of the scene remains at noon. 




CHURCH POETRY FO H THE YEAR. 



Conversion of St. l^aul. 

THE STARS. 

By the Author of " Hymns and Scenes of Childhood" 

A WINTER EVENING'S WALK FROM CHURCH. 

How is he numbered among the children of God, and his lot is 
among the saints. — Wis. v. 5. 

A wintry night, yet brightly shine heaven's myriad 

lamps of fire, 
And many a spirit-cheering thought their beacon 

lights inspire ; 
How often in my lonesome path, home from the 

House of Prayer, 
My heart hath gladden'd, as I mark'd the peace and 

order there. 
Too dark and drear was all on earth to tempt a pil- 
grim's eye, 
And long and weary seem'd the way when not a 

friend was nigh ; 
Not one to share the many thoughts whose voiceless 

thrill to me 
Seem'd pent, as in the wreathed shell, the murmur of 

the sea. 



80 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Yet, plac'd from earthly friends apart, our thoughts 

may heavenward rise, 
And borrow many a peaceful joy from yonder star -lit 

skies ; 
May whisper we are not alone, heaven's armies camp 

around, 
And cheerly in the ear of faith prophetic numbers 

sound ; 
" The heavens declare Thy glory, Lord, the firma- 
ment doth show 
Thy handy-work, though men would mar its glorious 

trace below ; 
Still day to day and night to night, Thy majesty 

proclaim, 
Yea, all Thy works shall praise Thee, Lord, Thy 

Saints shall bless Thy name. 



Oh, who upon the countless stars with thoughtful 

heart can gaze, 
Nor own a harmony divine throughout their mystic 

maze ? 
Unbroken are their glittering ranks, as when long 

ages back, 
The Chaldee from his watch-tower mark'd their 

ceaseless onward track, 






CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 81 

Though numberless to human eye as are the grains 

of sand, 
The Lord our God doth grasp them all in the hollow 

of His hand, 
Yea, He doth call them all by name in greatness of 

His power, 
And, for that He is full of might, they fail not to 

this hour. 



How lovely each, yet none alike, round every orb is 

thrown, 
A radiance differing from the rest, a glory of its 

own, 
And thus, methinks, hath every saint his own pecu- 
liar grace, 
While angel like they all appear in brightness of Thy 

face : 
And what, although Thy beauteous flock seem scat- 

ter'd o'er the sky, 
Too far and wide for man to trace their mystic 

unity ? 
In marshallings beyond our skill, Thy wisdom orders 

them, 
And in the circlet Thou hast trac'd, abides each 

sparkling gem. 



82 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

So in Thy Church from age to age mysterious order 

shines, 
Though little skills our misty sight to trace the 

heavenly lines, 
Yet mark we many a saintly band, distinct if not 

apart, 
And many a chosen brotherhood, while all are one in 

heart. 
The Apostles' glorious company in order first we 

boast, 
The Prophets' goodly fellowship, the Martyrs' noble 

host, 
Confessors of Thy name and truth in many a rank 

appear, 
The lily-bearing virgin train shine out conspicuous 

here. 

All holy Bishops, faithful Priests, and Pastors, prov'd 

in love, 
Upon whose unfurl'd banner shone the Crosier and 

the Dove, 
A glorious constellation form, of softest, purest ray, 
While countless saints, to us unknown, gleam like 

the Milky Way, 
That wondrous belt which many a time my childish 

fancy deem'd, 
The ladder reaching unto heaven of which the 

Patriarch dream'd, 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAH. 83 

Bright with the glory which, methought, must 
stream the pathway o'er, 

Where blessed spirits to and fro were passing ever- 
more. 

But now its far off twinkles seem of hidden saints to 

tell, 
Who from our worldly ways apart in silent bright- 
ness dwell. 
Oh, deem thou not to them is given a faint and 

feeble ray ! 
Thou knowest not how bright they shine in regions 

far away. 
Perchance the farthest from our sight are nearest to 

the throne, 
And blessed are they who on earth are like their 

Lord unknown, 
Though oft on ministries of love, in answer to their 

prayer, 
The holy angels come and go upon the heavenly 

stair. 

The church that tells of many a saint may seem to 

pass them o'er, 
But deeply in her " heart of hearts'' she hides them 

evermore, 



84 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

And often when some holy life, recorded for our 

sake, 
Hath seem'd within my slothful heart a kindred spark 

to wake, 
With shamefaced gladness I have thought, how many 

a nameless one 
Hath silently and steadfastly the race before us run : 
God only and good angels note their deeds of faith 

and love, 
Whose life is hid with Christ in God, whose record is 

above. 

And thou, fond heart, so fain to save what thou must 

lose to find ! 
The thought that centres in thyself, is it not yet 

resigned ? 
And couldst thou not desire to live thus from the 

world apart, 
Yielding to Him who gives thee all, an undivided 

heart ? 
And were it not a joy to shine with undistinguished 

ray, 
Lost in the radiancy that makes a never-ending day ? 
Lo 1 such the oneness unto which the Virgin Bride 

aspires, 
The glory of the Lord is hers, and all that she 

desires. 






CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 



85 




THE IVY. 



S. R. 



Hold thee still in the Lord, and abide patiently upon Him. 

Psalm xxxvii. 7. 



The rude wind sweeps thee roughly by 
Dashing thy torn limbs cruelly ; 
Yet patient plant, it tosses them 
But higher up thy wedded stem : 
And come some brighter days, and thou 
Wilt climb aloft from bough to bough, 
Dressing with crown of glossy green 
Those bare trunks now so rugged seen, 
While emerald leaves shall quite overwhelm 
And cheer with youth that ancient elm. 
There from on high shall dangle soon 
Nature's free work, thy light festoon, 
And far and wide in garlands fling 
The glee of life, the air of spring. 
i 



86 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

There too, the frequent bush shall be 
(Scarce seeming of thy family) 
Whence from its leafy nest doth shoot 
A dark corymbus of thy fruit, 
That feeds full many a child of air, "J 
And speaks kind Providence's care C 
When all beside is waste and bare. \ 
It were not thus, didst thou despise 
The aid that lifts thee to the skies ; 
Then wouldst thou creep along full low 
Nor fruit nor flower on thee could grow, 
Thy beauty would be small indeed, 
Thyself among the worms, a weed. 

'Tis even so with fallen man, — 
Let him alone ; he nothing can : 
No certain good in him is found, 
Basely he grovels on the ground. 
But let his spirit heavenwards move 
Drawn by blest influence from above, 
Still struggling daily more and more 
Thither in thought and life to soar, 
And then his growth is bold and free, 
And he himself what man should be, 
Yea all his life, by angels seen, 
Is ever fruitful, ever green. 

Oh, may but I, fair Ivy, be 
In one thing more, most like to thee, 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 87 

Still prompt to catch whate'er I find 
Heaven sends to lift my downward mind ! 
As glad to clasp each friendly rod 
That helps me rise, and live to God ! — 
Then come to me, whate'er may come, 
Come days of gladness or of gloom, 
Right firm is that whereon I rest ; 
I know it, and I must be blest. 



l&mg Cfjarles'a Sap. 



EGLOSHAYLE. 

C. 

For this is thankworthy, if a man for conscience toward God 
endure grief, suffering wrongfully.— 1 St. Peter ii. 19. 

Here where the unresisted flood 
Pours turbid from the northern channel, 
And vexes in its restless mood 
Yon stream* renown'd in ancient annal ; 
For here, as British legends tell, 
The kingly Arthur fighting fell ; 

* The Camel. 



88 DAYS AND SEASONS, OH 

Here at the silent hour of night 
Unknowing and unknown I roam, 
Visiting by the pale moonlight, 
The land that was my Fathers' home, 
The fields that met their living eye, 
The Church wherein their ashes lie. 

Ev'n from the hour when Norman John 
Yielded perforce his moody pride, 
And freedom's early prize was won, 
Here have my Fathers lived and died ; 
Yes ! full six hundred years have flown 
Since first they called this land their own. 

I class them not with those high Peers, 
The sharers in that day of glory, 
The Howards, Perries, and De Veres, 
The other names of English story ; 
Yet Record tells me how and when 
They did their work as Cornish-men. 

When Europe pour'd her warrior bands, 
Sworn liegemen of the sacred sign, 
To wrest from unbelieving hands 
The holy Tomb of Palestine ; 
They were among that goodly train ; 
There did their argent blazon gain. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 89 

When through the realm there went abroad 
A kindling message from on high, 
" Why should the altars of our God 
Neglected in these ruins lie ?" 
My Sire obeyed his Pastor's call 
— Yon Tower is their memorial 

And when that darkest period came, 
"The age of light but not of love," 
My sire, not wanting to his name, 
Firm in the Church's contest strove ; 
With Grenville marshall'd the array, 
Loyal and true on Stratton's day. 

But vain your triumph, good and great ! 

The rebel tide in vain ye turn ! 

The Soldier weeps his Monarch's fate ; 

Teaches his children too to mourn. 

And as they read it year by year, 

To wet his '• Trial" with their tear. 

And still survives, in holiest thought 
Embalm'd, the memory of that hour. 
The sainted name for which he fought 
Is still a name of mightiest power : 
And iu his records still we read 
How "Martyrs are the Church's seed." 
i 3 



90 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

He triumph'd as he fell — because 

He bore the cross he wears the crown. 

For it is written in the laws 

Of Heaven, " no suffering no renown." 

Wouldst thou the victor's chaplet wear ? 

Upon thine heart this legend bear. 

Thou who hast fall'n upon the days 
That see the ancient strife renewM, 
Seek not the meed of present praise ! 
But, as "resisting unto blood" 
In quietness endure ! — like one 
Who painful lays stone upon stone 

In the undoubting faith, although 
It be not granted him to see, 
Yet that the coming age shall know 
He has not wrought unmeaningly, 
When gold and chrysophrase adorn 
A city brighter than the morn ! 




CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 91 

ffonvtf) Sunfcag after 2£ptpf)attg. 

JERUSALEM. 

M. H. 

He that putteth his trust in me shall possess the land, and shall 
inherit ray holy mountain. — Isaiah lvii. 13. 

Jerusalem is the city of the great King. 

Where is Jerusalem ? 
Where the eye overflows with tears, 
Mourning until God appears ; 
Where the heart and knee are bowing 
At the throne whence grace is flowing ; 
Where the hands of faith we raise 
To the Cross, where prayer and praise 
Are breathing forth from lips sincere, 
Jerusalem is there ! is there ! 

Thou lovely city of our God, 
Jerusalem, His blest abode ! 
Thou upon whose towering height 
The banner of the Cross waves bright ; 
Of this world so drear and lone, 
Thou the joy and thou alone ; 
Nought is beautiful save thee, 
Nothing noble, nothing free ; 



92 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Who would longer wish to stray 

Through this world's wild desert way, 

If, standing midst the wilderness 

Thy tabernacles did not bless ? 

What makes this life of banishment 

Be borne with cheerful calm content, 

Yea, happy and delightful seem, 

But thou, but thou, Jerusalem ? 

Jerusalem ! 'tis good to be 

Within thy walls ; to mingle free 

With fellow-citizens who share 

Our new-birth privileges there : 

Together hymn His praise divine 

Whose ways and glories round us shine ; 

To hold together converse high 

On Faith's bright prospects that before us lie : 

To count the joys vouchsafed our lot, 

Where " stranger intermeddleth not ;" 

Or from the Eastern windows gaze 

To catch the sun's first dawning rays, 

To breathe (Oh ! blessed if we may) 

The morning air of everlasting day ; 

To draw refreshment from the brightening sky, 

And brighter thoughts of blest futurity. 

Jerusalem, if I forget thee more 

Let my right hand forget her cunning lore ! 






CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 93 

Where are the treasures of our God displayed? 
Where are the brightest gems of heaven inlaid ? 
Where burn the torches of Eternal Light ? 
Where springs the exhaustless fountain of delight ? 
Where opes the book of life, to cheer the soul ? 
Where do true Israelites obtain the oil ? 
(The oil of joy which flinty rocks distil) 
Where drops the balm which softens every ill ? 
Where, but, Jerusalem, in thee ? and they 
Who love thee, prosper on their heavenly way. 
And they from strength to strength shall still pro- 
ceed, 
Whose heart is in the paths which to thee lead. 




94 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



iine of purine at ton. 

From Wilbye's Madrigals. 

Thou, Lord, wilt give Thy blessing unto the righteous. 

Psalm v. 13. 

There is a jewel which no Indian mine can buy, 
No chemic art can counterfeit ; 
It makes men rich in greatest poverty, 
Makes water wine, turns wooden cups to gold, 
The homely whistle to sweet music's strain ; 
Seldom it comes, to few from Heaven sent, 
That much in little — all in nought — content. 



lihmucatton, 

MY DOVES. 

Miss Elizabeth Barrett. 

A pair of turtle doves. — Luke ii. 24. 

My little doves have left a nest 

Upon an Indian tree, 
Whose leaves fantastic take their rest 

Or motion from the sea ; 
For ever there, the sea winds go 
With sun-lit paces to and fro. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 95 

The tropic flowers looked up to it, 

The tropic stars looked down : 
And there my little doves did sit, 

\Vith feathers softly brown, 
And glittering eyes that showed their right 
To general Nature's deep delight. 

And God them taught at every close 

Of water far, and wind 
And lifted leaf, to interpose 

Their chanting voices kind ; 
Interpreting that love must be 
The meaning of the earth and sea. 

Fit ministers ! Of living loves, 

Theirs hath the calmest sound — 
Their living voice the likest moves 

To lifeless music round — 
In such sweet monotone as clings 
To music of insensate things. 

My little doves were ta'en away 

From that glad nest of theirs, 
Across an ocean foaming aye, 

And tempest clouded airs. 
My little doves ! who lately knew 
The sky and wave by warmth and blue ! 



96 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

And now within the city prison, 
In mist and chillness pent, 

With sudden upward look they listen 
For sounds of past content — 

For lapse of water, swell of breeze, 

Or nut fruit falling from the trees. 

The stir without the glow of passion — 
The triumph of the mart — 

The gold and silver's dreary clashing 
With man's metallic heart — 

The wheeled pomp, the pauper tread, 

These only sounds are heard instead. 

Yet still as on my human hand 
Their fearless heads they lean, 

And almost seem to understand 
What human musings mean — 

(With such a plaintive gaze their eyne 

Are fastened upwardly to mine !) 

Their chant is soft as on the nest, 

Beneath the sunny sky, 
For love that stirred it in their breast 

Remains undyingly, 
And 'neath the city's shade can keep 
The well of music clear and deep. 






CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 97 

And love that keeps the music, fills 

With pastoral memories ! 
All echoings from out the hills 

All droppings from the skies, 
All flowings from the wave and wind, 
Remembered in their chant I find. 

So teach ye me the wisest part, 

My little doves ! to move 
Along the city ways, with heart 

Assured by holy love, 
And vocal with such songs as own 
A fountain to the world unknown. 

'Twas hard to sing by Babel's stream, 

More hard in Babel's street ! 
But if the soulless creatures deem 

Their music not unmeet 
For sunless walls — let us begin, 
Who wear immortal wings, within ! 

To me fair memories belong 

Of scenes that erst did bless ; 
For no regret — but present song, 

And lasting thankfulness — 
And very soon to break away, 
Like types, in purer things than they ! 

K 



98 



DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



I will have hopes that cannot fade, 
For flowers the valley yields ; 

I will have humble thoughts instead 
Of silent dewy fields ! 

My spirit and my God shall be 

My sea-ward hill, my boundless sea. 




CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 99 

iFrttf) Suntrag after i£ptpf)ang. 

QUIS SEPARABIT. 

a 

For he put on righteousness as a breastplate, and an helmet of 
salvation upon his head ; and he put on the garments of ven- 
geance for clothing, and was clad with zeal as a cloak. — Isaiah 
lix. 17. 

When high the waves of battle roll, 
How glory's trump inspires the soul ! 
Be but the lion flag display'd, 
The boy demands his father's blade, 
And age resumes his rusted shield 
And hurries to the ensanguin'd field. 

There is a chief who counts his slain, 
And summons forth his hosts in vain. 
Alas ! they reck not of the strife 
Where perish honour, freedom, life ; 
Unheeding hear the solemn sound, 
And sleep while thousands fall around. 

But let not me, O Chief of power ! 
Desert Thee in this dangerous hour ! 
Weak though mine arm, I know at length, 
That in my weakness there is strength. 
And if of old a shepherd's sling 
Could stay Philistia's triumphing ; 



100 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

A hammer in a woman's hand 
Of foul oppression rid the land ; 
Now, that I have Thine armour on, 
Thy helmet of salvation, 
Thy shield of Faith, Thy spirit's sword- 
Lead on, I follow Thee, O Lord ! 
And mortal foe, nor hellish hate, 
Me from Thy love shall separate ! 

LET THE RIGHTEOUS BE GLAD. 

S. R. 

And let the peace of God rule in your hearts.— Col. iii. 15. 

They err, who say life is not sweet, 
Though cares are long and pleasures fleet ; 
Though smiles, and tears, and sun, and storm, 
Still change life's ever-varying form. 

The mind that looks on things aright, 
Sees through the clouds the deep blue light ; 
And from the bank all mire and wet, 
Plucks the fresh scented violet. 

Each change is beauteous in its time ; 
And this is not our native clime, 
But sweet enough for those who roam, 
And take the path that leads them home. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 101 



*txu) Suntiap after iSptpfjang. 



LINES ON A SKELETON. 



Anon. 



And He shall send His angels with a great sound of a trumpet, 
and they shall gather together His elect from the four winds, 
from one end of heaven to the other. — St. Matt. xxiv. 31. 

Behold this ruin ! 'twas a scull, 

Once of ethereal spirit full ; 

This narrow cell was life's retreat, 

This space was thought's mysterious seat. 

What beauteous pictures filled this spot, 

What dreams of pleasure, long forgot ! 

Nor love, nor joy, nor hope, nor fear, 

Has left one trace or record here. 

Beneath this mouldering canopy 
Once shone the bright and busy eye ; 

But start not at the dismal void 

If Christian love that eye employ'd, 
If with no lawless fire it gleam'd, 
But thro' the dew of kindness beam'd, 
That eye shall be for ever bright 
When stars and suns have lost their light. 
k3 



102 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Here in this silent cavern hung 

The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue. 

If falsehoods honey it disdain'd, 

And where it could not praise, was chain'd, 

If bold in virtue's cause it spoke, 

Yet gentle concord never broke, — 

That tuneful tongue shall plead for thee 

When death unveils Eternity. 

Say, did these fingers dig the mine ? 
Or with its envied rubies shine ? 
To hew the rock, or wear the gem, 
Can nothing now avail to them : 
But if the page of Truth they sought, 
Or comfort to the mourner brought, — 
These hands a richer meed shall claim 
Than all that waits on wealth or fame. 

Avails it whether bare or shod 
These feet the paths of duty trod ? 
If from the bowers of joy they fled, 
To soothe affliction's humble bed ; 
If grandeurs guilty bribe they spurn'd, 
And home to virtue's lap return'd, 
These feet with angel's wings shall vie 
And tread the palace of the sky. 






CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 



103 




** {/' 



£eptuagrsima. 

A HYMN TO GOD. 

Rev. Philip Skelton, 1770. 

And God saw every thing that He had made, and behold it was 
very good.— Gen. i. 31. 

To God, ye choir above, begin 

A Hymn so loud and strong, 
That all the universe may hear 

And join the grateful song. 

Praise Him ; thou sun, who dwells unseen 

Amidst eternal light, 
Where thy refulgent orb would seem, 

A spot, as dark as night. 



Thou silver moon, ye host of stars, 

The universal song 
Through the serene and silent night, 

To listening worlds prolong. 



104 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

O all you distant worlds, and suns, 
From whence no travelling ray 

Hath yet, to us, through ages past 
Had time to make its way. 

Assist, ye raging storms, and bear, 
Upon your wings His praise. 

From north to south, from east to west ; 
Through heaven and earth and seas. 

Exert your voice, ye furious fires, 
That rend the watery cloud ; 

And thunder to the nether world, 
Your Maker's praise aloud. 

Ye works of God, that dwell unknown 

Beneath the rolling main ; 
Ye birds, that sing among the groves, 

And sweep the azure plain. 

Ye stately hills, that rear your heads, 
And towering pierce the sky, 

Ye clouds, that with an awful pace, 
Majestic roll on high. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 105 

Ye insects small, for which, one leaf 

Within its narrow sides, 
A vast extended world displays, 

And spacious realms provides. 

Ye race, still less than these, with which 

The stagnant water teems ; 
To which a single drop, tho' small, 

A boundless ocean seems. 

Where'er you are, where'er ye dwell, 

Ye creatures great or small, 
Adore the wisdom, praise the power, 

That made and governs all. 

From all the boundless realms of space 

Let loud Hosannahs sound; 
Loud send, ye wondrous works of God, 

The grateful concert round. 




106 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Sexagmma Sunfcag. 

BUSINESS. 

George Herbert. 

And unto Adam He said, because thou hast hearkened unto 
the voice of thy wife, and hast eaten of the tree, of which I com- 
manded thee, saying, Thou shalt not eat of it : cursed is the ground 
for thy sake ; in sorrow shalt thou eat of it all the days of thy life. 

Gen. iii. 17. 

Can'st be idle, can'st thou play, 
Foolish soul, who sinn'd to-day ? 

Rivers run, and springs each one 
Know their home, and get them gone : 
Hast thou tears, or hast thou none ? 

If, poor soul, thou hast no tears, 
Would thou hadst no faults or fears ! 
Who hath these, those ill forbears. 

Winds still work ; it is their plot, 

Be the season cold or hot : 

Hast thou sighs, or hast thou not ? 

If thou hast no sighs or groans, 
Would thou hadst no flesh and bones ! 
Lesser pains 'scape greater ones. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 107 

But, if yet thou idle be, 
Foolish soul, who died for thee? 

Who did leave his Father's throne 
To assume thy flesh and bone ? 
Had he life, or had he none ? 

If he had not liv'd for thee, 

Thou hadst died most wretchedly ; 

And two deaths had been thy fee. 

He so for thy good did plot, 
That his own self he forgot. 
Did he die, or did he not ? 

If he had not died for thee, 
Thou hadst liv'd in misery ; 
Two lives worse than ten deaths be. 

And hath any space of breath 
'Twixt his sins and Saviour's death ? 

He that loseth gold, though dross, 
Tells to all he meets his cross : 
He that sins, hath he no loss ? 



108 DA5TS AND SEASONS, OR 

He that finds a silver vein, 
Thinks on it, and thinks again. 
Brings thy Saviour's death no gain ? 

Who in heart not ever kneels, 
Neither sin nor Saviour feels. 



WHEAT. 

M. H. 

In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread.— Gen. iii. 19. 

Mysterious plant ! unknown thy native soil, 
A blessing springing from a curse thou art, 
Of sin-doomed man gladdening the weary heart. 

Abundant recompense for all his toil, 

When to the reaper's arms thou yield'st the spoil ; 
Yet must the reaper ply the sower's part, 
Nor from the stubborn clod thy green blades start, 

Unwatered by his sweat and ceaseless moil. 

Mysterious plant ! uncultured thou mighfst spring 
In Eden's bowers ; thou ownest no home on earth 

In which unbidden thou dost flourish now ; 
And thy rich harvests still the record bring, 

That blessing with His judgments God sends forth, 
Who bade man's bread be earned by sweat of 
brow. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 109 

<&uui(juagegtma Suntrag. 

ON THE FIRST SIGHT OF THE SEA. 



For now we see through a glass, darkly ; but then face to face : 
now I know in part ; but then shall I know even as also I am 
known.— -1 Cor. xiii/12. 

Visions of vastness and of beauty ! long, 

Too long have I neglected ye : content 

Nor to have soothed my soul to rest among 

Your evening lullaby of breeze and wave, 

While the low sun retiring glow'd from far, 

A pillar of gold upon a marble plain ; 

Nor yet, wild waked from that deceitful sleep, 

When the storm wav'd his giant scourge, and rode 

Upon the rising billows, have I sate, 

Listening with fearful joy, and pulse that throbb'd 

In unison to every bursting wave. 

Yet the strong passion slept within my soul, 

Like an unwaken'd sense ; even as the blind 

Mingles in one dear dream all softest sounds, 

All smoothest surfaces, and calls it light. 

Such lovely, formless visions once were mine, 
Dear to remembrance yet ; but far more dear 

L 



110 



DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



The present glories of the world of waves. 

So, through a glass seen darkly, mortals deem 

Of things eternal : but even now is the hour 

When gales from heaven shall blow, and the true sun 

Rising in glory o'er the unknown expanse, 

Shall pour at once upon th' unbodied soul 

Floods of such blessedness, as mortal sense 

Might not endure, nor spirit, pent in flesh, 

Imagine dimly. Be my race so run, 

In holy faith and righteous diligence, 

That purged from earthly film and fear, my soul 

May catch her first glimpse of eternity, 

Mists gradual roll away, and the calm waves 

Still smile and brighten, as I draw more near. 




CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. HI 



THE LAST PALATINE. 

THE FUNERAL OF WILLIAM VAN-MILDERT, 

THE LAST PRINCE BISHOP OF THE PALATINATE OF DURHAM, 

FEBRUARY, 1836. 

Rev. F. W. Faber. 

The crown is fallen from our head ; woe unto us, that we have 
sinned!— Lam. v. 16. 

How dark and dull is all the vaporous air, 
Loaded with sadness as though earth would grieve 
Whene'er the skirts of ancient grandeur leave 
A place they once enriched, forlorn and bare ! 
Man and the earth in mutual bonds have dwelt 
So long together, that it were not strange 
Old lights eclipsed and barren-hearted change 
Should be by sentient nature deeply felt. 

And with the motions of her outward shows, 
Prophetic leadings, I would almost say, 
Guiding the observant spirit on its way, 
Doth she men's minds harmoniously dispose. 
The woods and streams are sympathetic powers, 
Fountains of meek suggestion, to the man 
Who with submissive energy would plan 
His way of life in close and heated hours. 



112 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

How the dense morning compasses the town, 
As though there were no other place beyond ; 
And with its weeping mist bids us despond 
For the old forms which one by one sink down ! 
How patiently the Minster stands, a vain 
And beautiful monition, from the hill 
Rising or rather growing, mute and still 
Within a cavern of dark mist and rain ! 

O venerable Pile ! whose awful gloom 
From my first boyish days hath been the sign 
And symbol to me of the Faith divine 
Of which thou art a birth ! from out the womb 
Thou springest of the old majestic past, 
Colossal times, which daily from the heart 
Of this dear land with lingering steps depart, 
Furling the mighty shadows that they cast. 

Past greatness is the shadow and the screen, 
Beneath whose shade high hearts serenely lurk, 
Catching true inspiration for the work 
Which shall in other days be known and seen. 
But greatness, which men do not understand, 
Is felt a pressure not to be endured, 
Where barren minds are painfully immured 
Like dwarfs within the grasp of giant hand. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 113 

How patiently the Minster stands ! so well 

Hath it Time's mute indignities sustained, 

It might for its own beauty have detained 

The grandeur now withdrawing. Hark ! the knell ! 

Durham, the uncrowned city, in meet grief 

Prepares to celebrate within the shrine, 

The obsequies of her last Palatine ; 

And nature's gloom is felt as a relief. 

And hark ! — the knell again ! within the town 
Through the old narrow streets the sinuous crowds, 
Meeting and parting, like the trailing clouds 
Of a spent storm, are on the Abbey thrown. 
How patiently it stands ! Once more — the knell ! 
The crowd with silent agitation stirred 
And a contagious awe like some shy herd, 
Shrinks at the ponderous voice of that deep bell. 

The blameless prelate in the antique gloom 
Of the low western Galilee is laid 
In the dark pageantry of death arrayed, 
Nigh to the venerable Beda's tomb : 
And in the distant east beside the shrine 
There is a grave, a little earth up-cast, 
Wherein to-day a rich and solemn Past 
Must be entombed with this old Palatine. 
l 3 



H4 DAYS AND SEASONS, OK 

See how with drooping pall and nodding plume, 
In many a line along the misty nave, 
The sombre garments of the clergy wave, 
Bearing the last prince-bishop to his tomb ! 
And, as the burden swayeth to and fro, 
I sec a glorious relic, most sublime, 
A dread bequest from out the olden time, 
Borne from the earth with ceremonial show. 

To one old priest were Keys and Sceptre given, 
Two rights combined, the human and divine, 
Blended in one high office as a shrine 
Where earth might into contact come with Heaven \ 
This homage of great times unto the Cross, 
All this magnificent conception, here 
Outstretched upon the Palatine's frail bier 
Is borne away ; and will men feel no loss ? 

I lath not a sacred lamp gone out to-day 
"With ominous extinction ? Can ye fill, 
Wild men ! the hallowed vases that ye spill, 
And light our darkened shrines with purer ray ? 
O where shall trust and love have fitting scope ? 
Our children will cry out for very dearth 
Of grandeur, fortified upon the earth 
As refuges for faith and holy hope. 



CHURCH POBTRY FOR THE YEAR. 115 

The cloud of music hushed still loads the air ; 
The herald breaks the wand, while he proclaims 
The sainted Palatine's puissant names : 
Yon kingless throne is now for ever bare ! 
This is a gesture, whereby we may solve 
The temper of the age : upon this day, 
And in St Cuthbcrt's shrine, the times display 
The secret hinge on which they now revolve. 

Cities where ancient sacrilege was bold, 
Nature with tendcrest rites doth consecrate 
Anew, and their remains incorporate 
With her own placid mounds and forests old : 
But an unholy action in its birth 
Doth visibly uncrown a place, laid low 
In all the rawness of dishonour : now 
There is a glory less upon the earth. 

At night upon the Minster I looked down ; 
In all the streets through dismal mist and rain 
The lights were twinkling ; and the mighty fane 
Seemed over its seven subject hills to frown. 
This thought a light o'er my old age will shine, — 
A grandeur, now no more on earth, touched me 
AVith its last outskirts, for on bended knee 
I oft was blessed by that last Palatine ! 



116 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



3£beof St. JWatttya*. 

Rev. C. Strong. 

Blessed are ye that weep now. — St. Luke vi. 21. 

Passing the enclosure where the dead repose 
I saw, in sable weeds, a gentle pair 
Lingering with fond regard at evening's close, 
Beside a little grave fresh swelling there : 
Silent they stood, serene their thoughtful air : 
There fell no tear, no vain complaint arose ; 
Faith seemed to prompt the unutterable prayer, 
And to their view the eternal home disclose — 
Next Sabbath brought me where the floweret lay, 
Record of high descent the marble bore, 
Heir of a noble house, and only stay ; 
And these words gathered from the Bible's store — 
" The Lord hath given, the Lord hath ta'en away, 
His holy name be blessed evermore. " 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 1 17 



St ftlattf)tas's Dan. 

Henry Vaughun. 



That ye may know what is the hope of His calling, and what 
the riches of the glory of His inheritance in the saints, and what 
is the exceeding greatness of His power to us-ward who believe. 

Ephes. i. 18-19. 

I walked the other day (to spend my hour) 

Into a field, 
Where I sometimes had seen the soil to yield 

A gallant flower ; 
But winter now had ruffled all the bower 

And curious store, 
I knew there, heretofore. 



Yet I, whose search loved not to peep and peer 

In the face of things. 
Thought with myself there might be other springs 

Besides this here, 
Which, like cold friends, sees us but once a year, 

And so the flower 
Might have some other bower. 



118 



DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



Then taking up what 1 could nearest spy, 

I digged about 
That place where I had seen him to grow out, 

And by and bye 
1 saw the warm Recluse alone to lie, 

Where, fresh and green 
He lived, of us unseen. 



Many a question intricate and rare 

Did I there strow, 
But all I could extort was, that he now 

Did there repair 
Such losses as befell him in this air ; 

And would, ere long, 
Come forth most fair and young. 

This past, I threw the clothes quite o'er his head, 

And stung with fear 
Of my own frailty, dropp'd down many a tear 

Upon his bed : 
Then sighing whisper'd, — " happy are the dead : 

" What peace doth now 
" Rock him asleep below !" 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 119 

And yet how few believe such doctrine springs 

From a poor root, 
Which all the winter sleeps here under foot, 

And hath no wings 
To raise it to the truth and light of things, 

But is still trod 
By every wandering clod. 

O Thou, whose Spirit did at first inflame 

And warm the dead, 
And, by a sacred incubation, fed 

With life this frame, 
Which once had neither being, form, nor name ! 

Grant I may so 
Thy steps track here below, 

That in the masques and shadows I may see 

Thy sacred way, 
And by those hid ascents climb to that day 

Which breaks from Thee, 
Who art in all things, though invisibly, 

Show me Thy peace, 
Thy mercy, love, and ease. 



I 



120 



DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



And from this care, where dreams and sorrow reign, 

Lead me above, 
Where light, joy, leisure, and true comforts move, 

Without all pain ; 
There, hid in Thee, show me his life again, 

At whose dumb urn 
Thus all the year I mourn ! 




CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 121 



£isf) &2iietrnestraD. 

From Filicaja. 

Turn ye even to me, saith the Lord, with all your heart, and 
with fasting and with weeping and mourning.— Joel ii. 12. 

Out of the bosom of the dark deep tomb, 

Each year before the bar of truth ye come, 

Ye sacred ashes ! — and I went to hear, 

Ye witness 'gainst me, with your speech severe. 

" No, no," ye cry, " Thou couldst not now be known 

For him of yore. Where is thy proud youth flown ? 

Where is thy strength? — thine early promise where? — 

Where the bright ringlets of thy golden hair I" 

Convinced and motionless, I silent stand, 

As though my latest moment were at hand, 

And trembling gird me for the parting hour, 

When that dread sentence comes with awful power, 

From whence lies no appeal — that to the earth 

I must return, from which I had my birth. 

It will — it will come soon ! O listen, then, 
The dreadful day of wrath will come, ye fools ! 
When the last trumpet shall call forth the dead 
Out of their graves to rise, and meet their Judge ! 
And each immortal spirit, — re-arranged 
In its once mortal vesture, — shall return, 
The good, to heaven ; the wicked, to the land 



122 



DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



Where everlasting death shall be their doom. 
O e'er the dawning of that dreadful day, 
Confess your sins to God, and be forgiven ! 

Have faith in God, and do the works of faith, 

So amid horror and dismay, on you, 

The light may shine, — as when the face of God 

Was veiled in clouds and darkness to His foes : 

But on His chosen shone in light and joy. 




CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 123 



THE ASCETIC. 



Lay up for yourselves treasures in Heaven. — St. Matt. vi. 20. 

Thence forward by that painful way they pass, 

Forth to an hill, that was both steep and high, 

On top whereof a sacred chapel was, 

And eke a little hermitage thereby, 

Wherein an aged man did lie, 

That night and day said his devotion, 

Ne other worldly business did apply ; 

His name was Heavenly Contemplation, 

Of God and goodness was his meditation. 

Great grace that old man to him given had, 
For God he often saw from Heaven's height ; 
All were his earthly eyne both blunt and bad, 
And through great age had lost their kindly sight ; 
Yet wondrous quick and persaunt was his spright, 
As eagle's eye, that can behold the sun. 
That hill they scale with all their power and might, 
That his* frail thighs nigh weary and foredone, 
Gan fail ; but by fher help, the top at last he won. 

* The Redcross Knight. t Mercy. 



124 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

There they do find that godly aged sire, 

With snowy locks adown his shoulders shed ; 

As hoary frost with spangles doth attire 

The mossy branches of an oak half dead. 

Each bone might through his body well be read, 

And every sinew seen, through his long fast ; 

For nought he car'd his carcass long unfed ; 

His mind was full of spiritual repast 

And pin'd his flesh to keep his body low and chaste. 



JFitzt Suntrag in Eent. 



LAMENT IN THE LENTEN SEASON. 

Arthur Cleveland Coxe. 

By kindness,— by love unfeigned. — 2 Cor. vi. 6. 

O weep for them who never knew 

The mother of our love, 
And shed thy tears for orphan-ones, 

Whom angels mourn above ! 
The wandering sheep — the straying lambs, 

When wolves were on the wold, 
That left our Shepherd's little flock, 

And ventured from His fold. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 125 

Nay, blame them not ! for them, the Lord 

Hath loved as well as you : 
But O, like Jesus : 'pray for them 

Who know not what they do : 
O plead as once the Saviour did, 

That w T e may all be One, 
That so the cruel world may know 

The Father sent the Son. 

O let thy Lenten litanies 

Be full of prayer for them ! 
O go ye to the scattered sheep 

Of Israel's parent stem ! 
O keep thy fast for Christendom ! 

For Christ's dear body mourn ; 
And weave again the seamless robe, 

That faithless friends have torn. 

Ye love your dear home-festivals, 

With every month entwined ; 
O weep for them whose sullen hearths 

No Christmas garlands bind ! 
Those Iceland regions of the faith 

No changing seasons cheer, 
While our sweet paths drop fruitfulness, 

Through all the changing year. 
m 3 



126 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

What though some borealis-beams 

On even them may flare ; 
Pray God the sunlight of his love 

May rise serenely there ! 
For flashy-gleams, O plead the Lord 

To give His daily ray ! 
With heavenly light at morn and eve, 

To thaw their wintry way. 

O weep for those, on whom the Lord 

While here below did weep, 
Lest grievous wolves should enter in, 

Not sparing of his sheep ; 
And eat thy bitter herbs awhile, 

That when our Feast is spread 
These too — that gather up the crumbs, 

May eat the children's bread. 

Seconfo Suntrag in Eent. 

THE FEAR OF THE LORD IS THE BEGINNING OF 
WISDOM. 

S. R. 

He therefore that despiseth, despiseth not man, but God, who 
hath also given unto us His Holy Spirit.— 1 Thess. iv. 8. 

There are who make their godless boast 
Of hearts to sense of pleasure lost, 
As 'twere an idle thing ; 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 127 

Against the fears which others feel, 
Their breast in hardihood they steel 
And brave, O death, thy sting. 



This bravery comes not, sure, of good, 
It is a proud unholy mood 

Of reckless nature born ; 
It fits alone the obdurate rock, 
Made to abide rough Tempest's shock 

In necessary scorn. 

Look beauteous Nature's works all through, 
And every creature's habits view 

Alive to its own bane ; 
The wildest herds foresee the storm, 
And hide them each his brawny form 

Safe from the deluged plain. 



The wakeful hare crouched down so low 
Lists from afar the creeping foe 

That marks her for his prey : 
The little songster's rounded eye 
Discerns the falcon yet on high, 

And wings unharmed away. 



128 DAYS AND SEASONS, Oil 

Nay e'en the transient-blooming flower 
Anticipates night's dewy shower, 

With instinct kindly given ; 
Awhile she shuts her treasures up, 
Till she may spread her balmy cup 

Beneath a laughing heaven. 

Then, Reason, surely 'tis not thine 
To indurate the soal divine, 

And stop our warned ears ; 
'Tis thine to sound a loud alarm, 
And all thy gifted children arm 

To meet their juster fears. 

Thou bidst us think on life to come, 
To dread the unpardoned sinner's doom, 

Not to mislead but guide ; 
Who feared in time, least feared at last, 
And waiting the Archangel's blast 

Serenely still have died. 

The thought of judgment leads us right, 
Then walk we in our Judge's sight, 

Meek, faithful, wise and pure ; 
While fears of woe to sin allied, 
But fix us near a Saviour's side 

Where our frail souls are sure. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 129 

Heaven's windows burst, the Deluge breaks, 
Too late to fear the scorner wakes, 

O'erwhelmed the sons of men ; 
The Sons of God are safely housed, 
And never more shall they be roused, 

To fearful thoughts again. 

Cfjtrtr Suntrag in Hent. 

THE MYSTERY OF NATURE. 

Anon. 

All these things are against me.— Gen. xlii. 36. 

c< Why roam'st thou, sad and downward eyed, 
Pale pilgrim, sable clad ? 
While earth bedecks her like a bride, 
In vernal sunshine glad. 

" The snowdrop's reign is almost gone, 
And gayer flowers unfold, 
Narcissus with its clusters fair, 
And crocus gleaming gold. 

" But thou the while dost paler grow, 
More sadness hangs o'er thee, 
As if this pomp of loveliness 
It sickened thee to see." 



130 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

" There was a time when I drank in 

The sunshine of the spring, 

Which now upon my faded brow 

Doth baneful shadows fling. 



" But nature's face is changed to me, 
In funeral trappings clad, 
The more all other hearts are gay, 
The more my heart is sad. 

" Earth, in her winter dress of gloom, 
Is welcome to my eye, 
But spare me all her pomp and glare 
Of vernal pageantry." 

" say not so, thou pilgrim pale, 
But muse and pray awhile ; 
And so shall Nature's darkened face 
Resume its morning smile. 

(i Look on her with the eye of faith, 
And so thy heart shall learn, 
Of her mysterious loveliness 
The meaning to discern. 



CHUltCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 131 

" We may not turn in gloom away 
For One her ground hath trod, 
And left a glory round her path, 
Our Master and Our God. 



'And since that hour, this wondrous world 

Is but the outer shell, 
Which wraps a world more wondrous still, 

Wherein His chosen dwell. 



And He who framed that inner world 

With His created breath, 
Has rent in twain the barrier stern 

That parted life from death. 



" Alike on either side the tomb 
That unseen realm is spread, 
It knows no severing line between 
The living and the dead. 



The saints we see not gathered there, 
Blend with the saints we see ; 

One hidden life pervading all 
In mystic unity. 



132 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

" And in the fulness of the time, 
This outer world of sin 
Shall burst and shrivel and disclose 
The glorious world within. 



Then shall the sons of God no more 
Seem like the sons of clay, 

Their hidden sacramental life 
Made manifest that day. 



" And all the beauty that we see 
Clothing this outer earth, 
Is but the type, perchance the germ, 
Of her immortal birth. 



" Then shrink not from the gorgeous spring, 
For all her flowers are born 
Blest harbingers, to herald forth 
The resurrection morn. 



" And dream of dreariness no more, 
But rouse thee, toil and pray ; 
So thou in thine own lot mayst stand, 
Safe on that awful day." 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 133 



dfouvXl) Suntrag in Eent. 



MOX ABITURIS. 

And he sought where to weep.— Gen. xliii. 30. 

Our stream of life flows fresh and full, 
Why should a thought be there 

To change the limpid water dull, 
Its joyous course impair ? 

Is it because our early life 

Must have a touch of pain, 
To teach us how our mortal strife 

May all be turned to gain ? 

Must friends depart and youthful dreams, 
Must clouds of darkness roll, 

And dim our heaven's brightest beams, 
And change come o'er the soul ? 



134 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Too soon, alas ! the change begins 

For happiness below — 
And youth too short a respite wins 

From darkness, pain and woe. 

And better 'tis that short and few 

Our meeting hours should be, 
If while our changeful lot we rue 

We learn Faith's mystery. 

Better to have our sky o'ercast, 

Our love's well-spring defiled, 
Our friendship marred, if at the last 

Our God on us have smiled. 

Our Life, our Light, for ever on Thee 

Established be our heart, 
In this strange world's variety — 

For Thou wilt not depart. 

SIN. 

George Herbert. 

Now we brethren,— are the children of promise. — Gal. iv. 28. 

Lord, with what care hast Thou begirt us round ! 
Parents first season us ; then schoolmasters 
Deliver us to laws ; they send us bound 

To rules of reason, holy messengers. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 



135 



Pulpits and Sundays ; sorrow, dogging sin ; 

Afflictions sorted ; anguish, of all sizes ; 

Fine nets and stratagems to catch us in ; 
Bibles, laid open ; millions of surprises ; 

Blessings beforehand ; ties of gratefulness ; 

The sound of glory ringing in our ears ; 

Without, our shame ; within, our consciences ; 
Angels, and grace ; eternal hopes and fears — 

Yet all these fences, and their whole array, 

One cunning bosom-sin blows quite away. 




136 



DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



ISue of tf)e Annunciation. 



PRIMROSES AT MIDNIGHT. 



JBO 



If thou wouldest believe thou shouldest see the glory of God. 

John ii. 40. 

O happy flowers that while the dews of night 

Are falling fast around ye, open wide 

Your paly leaves beneath the cold moon-tide 

As cheerfully as when the rathe daylight, 

With sparkling drops and orient hues bedight, 

Culls forth your fresh and innocent breath of praise, — 

Ye teach me in your beauty, how to raise 

The^unwearied hymn, and ever in the might 

Of ceaseless adoration be employed. 

Ye bid me heaven-ward gaze in dreary hour 

Not less than when my soul is fully cloyed 

With sweets of life and boon prosperity. 

Expand thyself, ye say, in all thy power 

Of changeless Faith, and ever live as we. 






CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 



137 








annunciation of tfje ISlesscti Virgin JHatg. 

William Austin. 



And the angel came in unto her, and said, Hail, thou that art 
highly favoured, the Lord is with thee : blessed art thou among 
women.— St. Luke i. 28. 



What's this, that from Heaven's high top 
Falls down like a shining drop ? 
And as through the stars it passes, 
Makes them blaze with light like glasses ? 
Still, itself, it hither throws, 
And down sliding greater grows. 
Sure, it is some heavenly wight 
From the Father sent, of light ; 

n 3 



138 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

For as Phoebus, setting west 
Through a cloud, darts to the east : 
So, from forth the place he brake 
Follows him a heavenly strake, 
Darting light through all his path, 
Till on earth he lighted hath. 

Hark, he speaks ! All creatures, peace ; 
Stay, you orbs ; your music cease : 
Whist rude wind, let moisty calm 
All thy whistling wings embalm, 
Lest rough Neptune underneath 
Frown, or chafe, to hear you breathe. 
And thou, vast sea, cease to chide 
Th' unnumbered beach whereon you slide, 
'Cause the great Almighty's hands 
Chain thee up in such weak bands. 
Not a beast, nor yet a bird 
Give a sound, nor man, a word ; 
While an angel, to a Maid 
Such a message shall have said, 
That you all, for joy may sing. 
For four thousand years your King 
Said to Adam, your first lord 
He to earth would send His Word. 
Now behold bright Gabriel 
Star-like flies this news to tell : 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 139 

Nazareth first sees his rays, 
Where he lowly louts and says : 
Hail, chaste Mary, full of Grace ; 
God is with thee, in this place ; 
Blest art thou, above ail other 
Blessed Virgin ! blessed Mother ! 
Fear not, Mary, holy Maid ! 
God's high love on thee is laid. 
Thou, a Son, shalt breed and bring ; 
Call Him Jesus : for a King 
He shall be ; and Son to God, 
Ruling nations with His rod. 
He to Jacob shall be Friend, 
And His reign shall never end. 

Hark ! how Mary 'gins at that 
Her divine Magnificat. 
Cease, all creatures, peace, all things : 
Listen., while the Virgin sings. 
Stint your ever humming noise, 
While by her transcending voice, 
Angels seek again the sky, 
And bright Gabriel back doth fly. 
Silence be in heaven, and earth, 
Till the blessed One have birth. 

But, when Time's full time is come, 
That to us is borne this Son, 



140 



DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



Then shall all their glorious train, 

Pour themselves to earth again. 

Then sing all ; advance your throats 
And stretch loud your sweetest notes. 

For thousands of sweet heavenly soldiers then 

Shall Glory sing to God and Peace to men. 




CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 141 



AN ANGEL'S FLIGHT. 

Cowley. 

The angel Gabriel was sent. — St. Luke i. 26. 

Thus drest,. the joyful Gabriel posts away 
And carries with him, his own glorious day 
Through the thick woods : the gloomy shades awhile 
Put on fresh looks and wonder why they smile ! 
The trembling serpents close and silent lie ; 
The birds obscene far from his passage fly ; 
A sudden spring waits on him as he goes, 
Sudden as that by which creation rose. 



iftftf) Suntoag in Hent. 

Wordsworth. 

How much more shall the blood of Christ, who through the 
eternal Spirit offered himself without spot to God, purge your 
conscience from dead works to serve the living God. — Heb. ix. 14. 

If this mute earth 
Of what it holds could speak, and every grave 
Were as a volume, shut, yet capable 
Of yielding its contents to eye and ear, 
We should recoil, stricken with sorrow and shame, 
To see disclosed, by such dread proof, how ill 
That which is done accords with what is known 
To reason, and by conscience is enjoined ; 



142 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

How idly, how perversely, Life's whole course, 

To this conclusion, deviates from the line, 

Or of the end stops short, proposed to all 

At her aspiring outset. Mark the babe 

Not long accustomed to this breathing world ; 

One that hath barely learned to shape a smile ; 

Though yet irrational of soul to grasp 

With tiny fingers — to let fall a tear ; 

And as the heavy cloud of sleep dissolves, 

To stretch his limbs, bemocking, as might seem, 

The outward functions of intelligent man ; 

A grave Proficient in amusive feats 

Of puppetry, that from the lap declare 

His expectations, and announce his claims 

To that inheritance which millions rue 

That they were ever born to ! in due time 

A day of solemn ceremonial comes ; 

When they, who for this Minor hold in trust 

Rights that transcend the humblest heritage 

Of mere humanity, present their charge, 

For this occasion daintily adorned, 

At the baptismal font. And when the pure 

And consecrating element hath cleansed 

The original stain, the Child is there received 

Into the second Ark, Christ's Church, with trust 

That he, from wrath redeemed, therein shall float 

Over the billows of this troublesome world 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 143 

To the fair land of everlasting Life. 

Corrupt affections, covetous desires, 

Are all renounced ; high as the thought of man 

Can carry virtue, virtue is professed ; 

A dedication made a promise given 

For due provision to contest and guide, 

And unremitting progress to ensure 

In holiness and truth. 



LINES 
ON THE FOUR HUNDRED AND FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY 

OF THE 

OPENING OF WINCHESTER COLLEGE. 
march 28, 1843. 

Let us now praise famous men, and our fathers that begat us. 

In the days of our forefathers, the gallant days of old, 
When Cressy's wondrous tale in Europe's ears was 

told; 
When the brave and gentle Prince, with his heroic 

peers, 
Met France and all her knighthood in the vineyards 

of Poictiers ; 
When captive kings on Edward's state right humbly 

did attend ; 



144 DAYS AND SEASONS OR, 

When England's chivalry began the gartered knee 

to bend ; 
Then in the foremost place, among the noblest of the 

land, 
Stood Wykeham, the great Bishop, upon the king's 

right hand. 

But when gracious Edward slept, and Richard wore 

the crown, 
Forth came good William Wykeham, and meekly 

knelt him down. 
Then out spake young king Richard : " What boon 

can Wykeham ask, 
Which can surpass his worth, or our bounty over- 
task ? 
For art thou not our Chancellor ? and where in all 

the realm 
Is a wiser man or better, to guide the labouring helm ? 
And thou know'st the holy lore, and the mason's 

cunning skill : 
So speak the word, good Wykeham, for thou shalt 

have thy will." 

" I ask not wealth nor honour," the Bishop lowly 

said, 
" Too much of both thy grandsire's hand heaped on 

a poor monk's head : 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 145 

This world it is a weary load, it presses down my 

soul ; 
Fain would I pay my vows, and to Heaven restore 

the whole. 
Grant me that two fair Colleges, beneath thy charters 

sure, 
At Oxford and at Winchester, for ever may endure, 
Which Wykeham's hands shall raise upon the grassy 

sod, 
In the name of Blessed Mary, and for the love of God." 

The king he sealed the charters, and Wykeham 

traced the plan, 
And God, who gave him wisdom, prospered the 

lowly man : 
So two fair Colleges arose, one in calm Oxford's glade, 
And one where Itchen sparkles beneath the plane- 
tree shade, 
There seventy true-born English boys he nourished 

year by year 
In the nurture of good learning, and in God's holy 

fear ; 
And gave them steadfast laws, and bade them never 

move 
Without sweet sign of brotherhood and gentle links 

of love. 



146 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

They grew beside his pastoral throne, and kept his 
counsels sage, 

And the good man rejoiced to bear such fruit in his 
old age ; 

He heard the pealing notes of praise, which morn 
and evening rung 

Forth from their vaulted chapel, by their clear voices 
sung ; 

His eye beheld them two by two their comely order keep 

Along the Minster's sacred aisles, and up the beech- 
crowned steep ; 

And, when he went to his reward, they shed the 
pious tear, 

And sang the hallowed requiem over his saintly bier. 

Then came the dark and evil time, when English 
blood was shed 

All over fertile England, for the White Rose or the 
Red: 

But still in Wykeham's chapel the notes of praise 
were heard, 

And still in Wykeham's College they taught the Sa- 
cred Word ; 

And in the grey of morning, on every saint's-day still, 

That black-gowned troop of brothers was winding up 
the hill : 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 147 

There in the hollow trench, which the Danish pirate 

made, 
Or through the broad encampment, the peaceful 

scholars played. 

Trained in such gentle discipline from childhood to 

their prime 
Grew mighty men and merciful, in that distracted time, 
Men on whom Wykeham's mantle fell, who stood 

beside their king 
Even in his place, and bore his staff and the same 

pastoral ring ; 
Who taught Heaven-destined monarch to emulate 

his deeds 
Upon the banks of Cam, and in Eton's flowery meads ; 
Founders of other Colleges by Cherwell's lilied side, 
Who laid their bones with his, when in ripe old age 

they died.* 

And after that, when love grew cold, and Christendom 

was rent, 
And sinful Churches laid them down in sackcloth to 

repent ; 

* Archbishop Chicheley, founder of All Souls' College, and 
William of Waynflete, bishop of Winchester, founder of St. Mary 
Magdalene's College, Oxford, and adviser of Henry VI. in the 
foundation of King's College and Eton, were both Winchester 
scholars. 



148 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

When impious men bore sway, and wasted church 

and shrine 
And cloister and old abbey, the works of men divine ; 
Though upon all things sacred their robber hands 

they laid, 
They did not tear from Wykeham's gates the Blessed 

Mother-Maid : 
But still in Wykeham's cloisters fair wisdom did 

increase, 
And then his sons began to learn the golden songs of 

Greece. 

And all through great Eliza's reign, those days of 
pomp and pride, 

They kept the laws of Wykeham, and did not swerve 
aside : 

Still in their vaulted chapel, and in the Minster fair, 

And in their lamp-lit chambers, they said the fre- 
quent prayer : 

And when the Scottish plague-spot ran withering 
through the land, 

The sons of Wykeham knelt beneath meek Andrewes* 
fostering hand, 

And none of all the faithless, who swore th' unhal- 
lowed vow, 

Drank of the crystal waters beneath the plane-tree 
bough. 



CHURCH TOETRY FOR THE YEAR. 149 

Dread was the hour, but short as dread, when from 
the guarded down 

Fierce Cromwell's rebel soldiery kept watch o'er 
Wykeham's town : 

Beneath their pointed cannon all Itchen's valley lay, 

St. Catharine's breezy side, and the woodlands far 
away, 

The huge Cathedral sleeping in venerable gloom, 

The modest College-tower, and the bedesmen's Nor- 
man home. 

They spoiled the graves of valiant men, warrior and 
saint and sage, 

But at the grave of Wykeham good angels quenched 
their rage. 

Good angels still were there, when the basehearted son 
Of Charles, the royal martyr, his course of shame 

did run : 
Then in those cloisters holy Ken strengthened with 

deeper prayer 
His own and his dear scholars' souls to what pure 

souls should dare ; 
Bold to rebuke enthroned sin, with calm undazzled 

faith, 
Whether amid the pomp of courts, or on the bed of 

death ; 

o 3 



150 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Firm against kingly terrors in his free country's 

cause, 
Faithful to God's anointed against a world's applause. 

Since then, what wars, what tumults, what change 

has Europe seen ; 
But never since in Itchen's vale has war or tumult been. 
God's mercies have been with us, His favour still has 

blest 
The memories sweet and glorious deeds of the good 

men at rest : 
The many prayers, the daily praise, the nurture in 

the Word, 
Have not in vain ascended up before the gracious 

Lord : 
Nations, and thrones, and reverend laws, have melted 

like a dream ; 
Yet Wykeham's works are green and fresh beside the 

crystal stream. 

Four hundred years and fifty their rolling course have 
sped 

Since the first serge-clad scholar to Wykeham's feet 
was led ; 

And still his seventy faithful boys, in these presump- 
tuous days, 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 151 

Learn the old truths, speak the old words, tread in 

the ancient ways : 
Still for their daily orisons resound the matin chime ; 
Still linked in bands of brotherhood St. Catharine's 

steep they climb ; 
Still to their Sabbath worship they troop by Wyke- 

ham's tomb ; 
Still in the summer twilight sing their sw r eet song of 

Home. 

And at th' appointed seasons, when Wykeham's 

bounties claim 
The full heart's solemn tribute from those who love 

his name, 
Still shall his white-robed children, as age on age 

rolls by, 
At Oxford and at Winchester, give thanks to God 

most High : 
And amid kings and martyrs shedding down glorious 

light, 
While the deep-echoing organ swells to the vaulted 

height, 
W r ith grateful thoughts o'erflowing at the mercies 

they behold, 
They shall praise their sainted fathers, the famous 

men of old. 



152 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



Stxtf) Suntrag in Eent. 

Rev. I. Williams. 

Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus. 

Phil. ii. 5. 

Ye shining ones that walk on Heaven's high wall, 

Look down, behold one from your heights around, 

Come see and hear, bear witness to my call ! 

What miracle of mercy have ye found 

Equal to mine ? — with sins encompass'd round, 

A lonely exile in the vale of tears — 

One struggling 'mid the rocks, his comrades drown'd, 

An unarm'd one trembling 'mid hostile spears, 

With such an one to walk th' Almighty God appears. 

Me hath he call'd to love Him, me hath deign'd 

To call His child, for me His life-blood pour'd, 

And when I turn from Him then He is pain'd : 

To all things else His all-constraining word 

Sets bounds, and o'er them throws His holding cord, 

But to our love : He asks our being whole, 

And who unto the soul can bounds afford ? 

'Tis He who can the Infinite control, 

Alone can meet her love, alone can fill the soul. 



CHLRCH POETRY Full THE YEAR. 153 

I ask not wealth, I ask not length of days, 
Nor joys which home, and rural sights bestow, 
Nor honour among men, nor poets' praise, 
Nor friendship, nor the light of love to know, 
Which with its own warm sun bathes all below ; 
Nor that the seed I sow should harvest prove, 
I ask not health, nor spirit's gladdening flow, 
Nor an assured pledge of rest above, 
If only Thou wilt give a heart to know Thy love. 

As many as the crosses which abound 

On every side our road which leads to Heaven, 

So many tokens of Thy care are found, 

To wean our fancies unto pleasure given ; 

To aid Thy Spirit which with our's hath striven, 

And bring us to the Cross of Thy deep woes. 

Here in the twilight of the silent even, 

While life's short day to sable darkness goes, 

My heart shall fly to Thee, and rest in Thy repose. 




154 



DAVS AND SEASONS, OH 




i^lontran before l£ aster. 




THE RETIREMENT. 

Christian Magazine, 1763. 

Thou, O Lord, art our Father, our Redeemer, Thy name is 
from everlasting. O Lord, why hast Thou made us to err from 
Thy ways ? and hardened our hearts from Thy fear? Return for 
Thy servants' sake, the tribes of thine inheritance. — Isaiah lxiii. 
16, 17. 

Yet, gracious God ! yet ere my glass be spent, 

Yet ere the miserable relics lie 

Mix'd in the ocean of Eternity, 

While yet Thy glorious Gospel-sun does shine, 

And I can call this day, this minute mine, 

Whilst Thou wilt pardon and I can repent, 

Speak, gracious Lord ! speak, for Thy servant hears, 

Speak, and Thy voice shall charm Thy servant's ears. 

What harbour is there for a troubled breast, 

Where shall a wandering spirit find her rest ? 

With heat and noise and toil and sin opprest ? 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. lOO 

Where my poor soul might dress herself and see 

Ere all be lost, what sin has left of Thee. 

From what point shall the soul herself survey, 

Search every cause and every action weigh ? 

Number her days ? make up her great accounts, 

And see to what the dreadful sum amounts. 

Oh ! grant me yet, dear God, some blessed shade 

For sighs, and holy inspirations made, 

Where I may now some happy leisure win 

To weep away my deep contracted sin. 

O come, my soul, O come, prepare, prepare, 

Go ponder what, and how, and where we are, 

How frail this span of Life ! how vain a breath, 

Opinion is ! and how uncertain Death ! 

How only one poor turf or stone shall bear 

Witness awhile that once, alas ! we were. 

How, this short scene once done, the trumpet shall 

Us to the bar, as fearful prisoners call. 

Ah then, poor soul, what will you plead, what say ? 

Where wilt thou stand, or whither wilt thou fly ? 

Alas ! thou canst not fly. thou canst not stay ; 

Wilt thou to rocks or to the mountains cry ? 

The rocks themselves shall shake, the mountains 

melt away. 
Since then my days so short, my work so great, 
Since there's no counsel in the silent grave, 



156 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

lead me, lead me to some safe retreat 

And from the world this ship-wrecked vessel save, 
By every wind opposed, and torn by every wave. 
Yet ere I sink if Thou the course wilt steer, 
The smallest plank a dying man shall bear. 
Lord, I am weary, O conduct me home, 
'Tis very late and very dark, O come. 

1 would not always live ; too long the scene 
Of sin and sorrow has already been, 

Oh sad ill acted part, O ! set me free, 

So sad a burthen to myself and grief to Thee. 

Yet my doar God — 

Because what's written in Thy book of me 

Is all involved in a dark decree, 

Because in this sad vale of misery 

I only know my soul can never die, 

And as I sow, such shall my harvest be, 

O ! lest the comforts which I have laid in 

Against the hour of death be dashed by one rash sin ; 

Lest my poor soul (which fain would upwards fly, 

Fain bear a part in Thy eternity,) 

Ah me ! when freed from this dark house of clay, 

Lest it at last should sadly lose its way, 

Oh, stay, and let me weep, let all my years, 

And days to come be measurM by my tears. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 157 

Stay but a little, Lord, ah what will be 

A few poor days to Thy Eternity ? 

Oh ! ere I call in vain, now let me flee, 

Now let the rocks and mountains cover me ; 

So close, so safe, no human eye nor ear 

Shall my complaints, shall my sad sighings hear. 

Where in deep silence and a sacred rest, 

A rest, a silence which the world ne'er knew, 

The self-remembering soul in its own breast, 

Shall the bright ray and all its beauties view, 

Too long with sin and ignorance opprest : 

Where those sweet days once mine and now past by 

I will weep o'er again, and wisely try, 

By dying every day, what 'tis at last to die. 

Where free from sin and folly I may lie 

Safe in the arms of peace and poverty : 

Banish all studies, but Thy works and Thee, 

Thy Cross my pride. Thy Grave my victory. 




158 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



Questran before ISastev, 



THE CROWN OF THORNS. 

From Filicaja. 

And they clothed him with purple, and platted a crown of 
thorns, and put it about his head. — St. Mark xv. 17. 

Who sent ye from the trunk, and who hath placed 
Upon that sacred Head, ye Thorns, the harsh 
And cruel diadem ? The guilty task 
Was yours by fate alone ; but mine, by sin. 
These hands, these very hands of mine, composed 
The impious wreath ; — this heart hath been the soil 
Whence they have sprung to life, and whence they 

drew 
The sap that should such bitter fruit produce. 
So with the growth of my great sins they grew, 
Infect with poisonous venom : — now behold, 
Themselves the ministers of wrath become ! 
But O ! when thus, with barbarous fury, I 
Had bound ye on my blest Redeemer's head, 
Why did ye then not turn, and rend my heart ? 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 159 

OiUtmestiap tiefove faster. 

CHRIST IN THE GARDEN. 

From Filicaja. 
And being in an agony He prayed. — St. Luke xxii. 44. 

If sad looks be the heralds of the heart, 
If gestures, blood, and tears may claim our faith — 
Then is He near to death — and asketh death, 
And here will He oft die, ere He depart. 
For my sins doth He mourn : yet for His grief — 
His grief that every other grief transcends — 
(Ah ! such the height to which His love ascends !) 
Neither from earth nor heaven He finds relief. 
At this sad sight how can my heart express 
Its bitter anguish, but by tears alone, 
Weeping my soul away with every tear ? 
Oh ! then the garden Adam went to dress, 
More fatal garden thou ! The seed was sown 
Of guilt in Eden — mark its harvest here ! 



Cfjurstrag before faster. 

Elegiac Poems. 
We are chastened of the Lord that we should not be condemned 
with the world.— 1 Cor. xi. 32. 



Who that a watcher doth remain 
Beside a couch of mortal pain, 
Deems he can never smile again ? 



160 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Or who that weeps beside a bier, 

Counts he has any more to fear 

From the world's flatteries, false and leer ? 

And yet anon and he doth start 
At the light toys in which his heart 
Can now already claim its part. 

() hearts of ours ! so weak and poor, 
That nothing there can long endure ; 
And so trteir hurts find shameful cure, 

While every sadder, wiser thought, 
Each holier aim which sorrow brought, 
Fades quite away and comes to nought. 

O Thou, who dost our weakness know, 
Watch for us, that the strong hours so 
Not wean us from our wholesome woe. 

Grant Thou, that we may long retain 
The wholesome memories of pain, 
Nor wish to lose them soon again. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 



161 




(£ootr dFtt&an. 



Behold, I lay in Sion a chief corner stone, elect, precious : and 
he that believeth on him shall not be confounded.— 1 Pet. ii. 6. 



O Lamp of life ! that on the bloody cross 

Dost hang, the Beacon of our wandering race, 
To guide us homeward to our resting-place, 

And save our best wealth from eternal loss ; 

So purge my inward sight from earthly dross, 
That fix'd upon Thy cross, or near or far, 

In all the storms this weary bark that toss, 
(Whate'er be lost in the tempestuous war) 
Thee I retain, my compass and my star ! 

That, when arriv'd upon the wish'd for strand, 
I pass of death the irrevocable bar, 

And at the gate of Heaven trembling stand, 
The everlasting doors may open wide, 
And give Thee to my sight, God glorified ! 
p3 



162 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



PARASCEUE FOR GOOD FRIDAY. 

William Austin. 

Behold your King. — St. John xix. 14. 

O you that careless pass along this way 

Have some regard, look hitherwards and stay. 

Behold a spectacle, set forth to view, 

That men and angels, heaven and earth may rue. 

Do you not feel the earth's foundation shake 

Trembling, to see black darkness overtake 

The sun and moon ? Behold ! the veil doth tear : 

The grave stones open ; and the dead appear, 

The universal orb is sick of pain ; 

And nature ready to dissolve again. 

Are not such things most worthy to be heard ? 

O stay your idle steps ! and give regard. 

Behold Him fastened to a cross accurst 

That unto all things, gave their moving first. 

Those arms and hands that made heaven, earth and 

Thee, 
Are now stretched forth, and nailed to that Tree. 
He that made seats and stays for bird and beast, 
Now wants a prop His bleeding head to rest. 
He that clothes all things, naked bears this scorn. 
He that gives sceptres, wears a crown of thorn. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 163 

The Just is called unjust : and now the Man 

Whose glory dims the stars looks pale and wan. 

The Well of life is dry ; yet thinks it good 

Still from His veins, to pour out floods of blood. 

The Bread is hungry. Dew of Heaven doth thirst. 

The Joy doth mourn. The Blessed is accursed. 

There hangs the Health all wounded : there He bleeds, 

Praying for them that do these horrid deeds. 

The Judge of heaven is judged : the Truth, belied, 

And the Foundation to the top is tied. 

The Strength, doth faint : the Light of Heaven doth 

sleep, 
The Lord of life doth die. There stay and weep. 
For thus to see one guiltless lose his breath, 
Would make one even for pity weep to death. 
But when thou canst, give o'er. (O do not yet !) 
Sit and consider why He paid this debt. 
Not for Himself. Then it had never been : 
For which of these could say, He had one sin ? 
It was for thee, poor man ! that canst not guess 
What wrath He felt that drunk this bitterness. 
To bear which wrath, He left His glorious seat, 
And brought from heaven a love to thee so great, 
As leaving God His Father, Angels, Powers, 
Glory, and Heaven He took this flesh of ours ; 
And walk'd despised ; hated, humble ; poor ; 
Oft weeping ; fasting ; praying evermore. 



164 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Scorn'd by His kindred : by His friends betray 'd ; 
Beaten, by those, which His own hands had made : 
All full of watchfulness, and grief for sin : 
No house ; nor scarce a grave to shroud Him in : 
Weary and faint, He preach'd and pin'd and mourn'd ; 
Calling for love which seldom was return'd ; 
Till having worn Himself for thee and me, 
For all His love they hung Him on that Tree. 
Then think what love He had who bore this pain, 
And even for love, sit down and weep again. 
But as thou weep'st look up upon the Cross, 
And count what gain thou hast, by His life's loss. 
Look up ; and reckon o'er His griefs again ; 
And thou shalt find great comfort in thy pain. 
Behold ! He dies ; but dies that thou mayst live ; 
He loses strength ; thee greater strength to give. 
He sleeps in death ; to give thee greater light, 
And by His wounds, thy wounds are healed quite. 
That He was lifted up, is thy foundation 
His truth belied gives thy truth approbation. 
His doom, thy quittal : nakedness and blows, 
Both health and righteous garments on thee throws. 
His curse did bless thee : mourning, give thee joy ; 
His thirst and hunger, thine did quite destroy. 
These precious fountains pour'd out for thy good ; 
Are wells of life in thee, sprung from His blood. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 165 

His paleness, when to death He did incline 

Shall one day make thy mortal body shine. 

And, that on thy head glory may be worn 

The King of kings bleeds with a crown of thorn. 

Though His head hang ; and want whereon to rest ; 

Yet thine may lean upon His sacred breast. 

His blessed hands, stretched forth upon that Tree, 

He opens to embrace, and stays for thee. 

Then rise with comfort. See His arms are wide ; 

His head inclined to kiss : and from His side, 

A river flows with mercy ; and His heart 

Flaming with love shines bright in every part. 

About His Cross, four saving virtues sit 

As guides that none may miss the way to it. 

Upon the top, sits Charity divine ; 

Obedience, on His right hand doth shine ; 

Upon His left, sweet Patience : and below, 

Humility her humble self doth throw. 

These lead thee to His arms, and to His side 

Where Love hath cut an open passage wide. 

Come then : and if thou sorrow for thy sin 

He'll ope that bloody gate and let thee in. 

O happy me ! that freed from all annoys 

Mayst enter thus, into thy Master's Joys. 

There, in that Rock, build safe, my soul ! my dove ! 

Build there ; and dwell ; and never more remove. 



166 DAYS AND SEASONS, Oil 

IS aster 2£bc. 

D. 

For Christ also hath once suffered for sins, the just for the un- 
just.— 1 Pet. iii. 18. 

Dear Lord ! that closed in this narrow room, 

Now restest from Thy last and sharpest pain ; 
For me Thou hast descended to the tomb 

For me Thou hast consented to be slain ; 

What heart-drawn tears can wash away the stain 
Of those black sins that nail'd Thee to the wood ? 

What showers of sorrow, which my grief may rain 
Can compensate one drop of Thy dear Blood ? 
O ! let me hasten where Thy Cross hath stood, 

And casting in its place my heart and mind, 
Pay one poor sacrifice for all the good 
Which Thou hast purchas'd for redeem'd mankind : 
And taking all, dear Lord ! that I can give, 
So let me die, that with Thee I may live. 




CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 167 




Is aster Sun&ap. 



D. 



When Christ, who is our life, shall appear, then shall ye also 
appear with Him in glory. Mortify therefore your members 
which are upon the earth. — Col. iii. 4, 5. 



Most happy dawn ! that well dost usher in 

This Day, whereon the Great Redeeming Word 
Broke down the bars, and cast away the cord, 

That prison'd us poor slaves of Death and Sin, 

How can I fitlier praise Thee, than begin 

With Thee the service of that Gracious Lord, 
Fenc'd with Whose shield, and furnish'd with 
Whose sword, 

I trust the final victory to win : 



168 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Then rouse, my soul ! and gird thee to the strife, 
Let be the banner of thy Lord display'd ; 

And through the cruel foes that siege Thy life, — 
Though check'd, unstopped, — though stricken, un- 

dismay'd, — 
Still onward press, rejoicing in His might, 
Who gives Thee both the power and prize of fight. 



EASTER. 

George Herbert. 

This is the day which the Lord hath made ; we will rejoice 
and be glad in it.— Psalm cxviii. 24. 

I got me flowers to strew Thy way ; 

I got me boughs off many a tree : 

But Thou wast up by break of day, 

And brought'st Thy sweets along with Thee. 

The sun arising in the East — 

Tho' he give light, and th' East perfume ; 

If they should offer to contest 

With Thy arising, they presume. 

Can there be any day but this, 
Tho' many suns to shine endeavour ? 
We count three hundred ; but we miss : 
There is but one ; and that one, ever. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 169 



AN HOIN FOR THE GREAT FESTIVALS. 

Hickes' Devotions. 

If ye then be risen with Christ, seek those things which are 
above, where Christ sitteth on the right hand of God.— Col. iii. 1 . 

Jesu ! whose grace inspires Thy priests, 
To keep alive by solemn feasts, 

The memory of Thy love : 
O may we here so pass Thy days, 
That they at last our souls may raise 

To feast with Thee above. 

Jesu, behold the wise from far, 
Led to Thy cradle by a Star, 

Bring gifts to Thee their King ; 
O guide us by Thy light that we 
May find Thy lov'd Face, and to Thee 

Ourselves for tribute bring. 

Jesu, the pure and spotless Lamb, 
Who to the temple humbly came, 

Those legal rights to pay ! 
O make our proud and stubborn will, 
Thine and Thy Church's laws fulfil ; 

Whate'er fond Nature say : 
Q 



170 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Jesu, who on that fatal Wood 

Pour'dst forth Thy life's last drop of blood, 

Nail'd to a shameful Cross ! 
O may we bless Thy love ; and be 
Ready, dear Lord, to bear for Thee 

All grief, all pain, all loss. 

Jesu, who by Thine own love slain, 
By Thine own power took'st life again, 

And from the Grave didst rise ! 
O may Thy death our spirits revive, 
And at our death a new life give, 

A life that never dies. 

Jesu, who to Thy Heaven again 
Return'dst in triumph, there to reign, 

Of men and angels King ; 
O may our parting souls take flight, 
Up to that land of Joy, and Light, 

And there for ever sing : 

All glory to the Sacred Three, 
One undivided Deity ; 

All honour, power, and praise : 
O may Thy blessed name shine bright, 
Crown'd with those beams of beauteous light 

Its own eternal rays. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 171 



iHonTrap tn faster ftHeefc, 

Rev. T. Whytehead. 



What manner of communications are these that ye have one to 
another, as ye walk, and are sad?— St. Lukexxiv. 17. 



Thou wert the first of all I knew 
To pass unto the dead, 
And Paradise hath seem'd more true 
And come down closer to my view, 
Since there thy presence fled. 

The whispers of thy gentle soul 

At silent lonely hours, 

Like some sweet saint-bell's distant toll, 

Come o'er the waters as they roll 

Betwixt thy world and ours. 

Oh ! still my spirit clings to thee, 
And feels thee at my side ; 
Like a green ivy, when the tree 
Its shoots had clasp'd so lovingly, 
Within its arms hath died : 



172 DAYS AND SEASONS, OK 

And ever round that lifeless thing 
Where first their clusters grew, 
Close as while yet it lived they cling, 
And shrine it in a second spring 
Of lustre dark and new. 



&uest»ag in 2£astet <&SEeefc. 

A LESSON FROM SPRING. 

C. M. S. 

Awake to righteousness. — 1 Cor. xv. 34. 

When first I saw yon grassy nook, 
Smiling so fresh and gay ; 
Cheered by the music of the brook ; 
Warmed by the sun's mild ray, — 

In the stern hand of Winter bound, 
Nor blade nor bud was seen ; 
And scarce to hide the barren ground, 
Appeared the moss so green. 

A week has hardly past — and see ! 
What treasures here are brought ; — 
Whose magic power so speedily, 
Such wondrous change hath wrought ? 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 173 

A thousand buds, like emeralds bright, 
Adorn the woodbine's spray ; 
The hazel boughs with tresses light 
Are hung, in sweet array ; 

And richly glows the turf so rare, 
With leaves of every shade ; 
And sure, I see the primrose there, 
Forth peeping from the glade. 

Not vainly hath the genial sun 

On you, his blessing shed ; 

Though the blue sky hath scarce begun 

To peer above your head. 

And still I feel the chilling breeze, 
Upon my temples play ; 
The languid sense is charmed to ease, 
And yet I dare not stay. — 

But lingering still ; soft whispering near, 
A voice salutes my heart ; — 
Why art thou vainly loitering here ? 
Hast thou performed Thy part ? 

Q3 



174 



DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



What hast thou done since last we met ? 
Ah ! thankless mortal ! say ; — 
Thou that must have so large a debt 
Of gratitude to pay. 

Canst thou the hand of Love perceive 
In Nature's works so plain ; 
And duly Heaven's own grace receive, 
But nothing yield again ? 




CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 



175 




WHEN DAYLIGHT APPEARS. 

George Wither. 

It is of the Lord's mercies that we are not con- 
sumed, because His compassions fail not. They 
are new every morning. — Lam. iii. 22, 23. 

Look forth, mine eye ; look up and view, 
How bright the daylight shines on me ; 

And as the morning doth renew, 

Mark how renew'd God's mercies be. 



Behold, the splendours of the day 
Disperse the shadows of the night ; 

And they who late in darkness lay 
Have now the comforts of the light. 



176 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Nor twilight plagues, nor midnight fears, 
Nor mortal nor immortal foes, 

Had power to take us in their snares ; 
But safe we slept, and safe arose. 

And to those days which we have led, 
He that is Lord of day and night, 

Another day vouchsafes to add 

That our lost hours redeem we might. 

It is too much to have made void 

So many days already past ; 
Let this therefore be so employ'd 

As if we knew it were our last. 

Most creatures now themselves advance, 
Their morning sacrifice to bring : 

The herds do skip, the flocks do dance, 
The winds do pipe, the birds do sing. 

Lord, why should these, who were decreed 
To serve Thee in a lower place, 

In thankful duties us exceed 

Who have obtained the highest grace ? 



CHUHCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 177 

We are obliged much more than those 
Our voice in thankful sounds to raise : 

Therefore, oh God ! our lips unclose 

And teach our tongues to sing Thy praise. 

Let heart and hand and voice accord 

This day to magnify Thy name : 
And let us every day, oh Lord ! 

Continue to perform the same. 

So when that morning doth appear 
In which Thou shalt all flesh destroy ; 

We shall not be awak'd with fear, 
But rise and meet Thy Son with joy. 



EVENING HYMN. 

Hickes' Devotions. 



So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts 
unto wisdom. — Psalm xc. 12. 



Now, my soul, the day is gone, 
Which in the morn was thine : 

Now its glass no more shall run, 
Its sun no longer shine. 



178 DAY/S AND SEASONS, OR 

True, alas ! the day is gone ; 

O were it only so : 
Is't not lost as well as done ? 

Cast up thy counts and know. 

Are we so much nearer heaven, 
As to the grave we bow ; 

Has our sorrow made all even, 
And cleared the debts we owe ? 



From what vice have we refrained, 
To break the course of sin ? 

What new virtue have we gained 
To make us rich within ? 

Time is well bestowed on those 
Who well their time bestow : 

Whose main concern still forward goes ; 
Whose hopes still riper grow. 

Who whene'er the clocks proclaim 

Another hour is past, 
Have an art to set their aim 

And thoughts upon their last. 






CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 179 

That their last and happiest hour, 
Which brings them to their home ; 

Where they sing, and bless the Power, 
That made them thither come. 

O, my God, of life and death 

The ever-living King ! 
Since Thou giv'st to all their breath, 

May all Thy glory sing. 



SPRING SONNETS. 



W 



Awake, O north wind ; and come thou south ; blow upon my 
garden, that the spices thereof may flow out. — Cant. iv. 16. 



Midst balmiest odours of her own creation 
Uprose the violet from her mossy bed 
With sisters two and three, and bowed the head, 
At the great Mistress 1 call, in adoration. 
With timid show they came, as if in doubt 
Whether indeed rude winter's reign was o'er, 
And the sweet hours arrived for them t' adore 
Their Queen, and bless her for her coming out. 



180 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Of human hearts true emblem, where the power 

Of love and fealty dwell deep, but times 

Are yet ungenial for their full display. 

Such hearts are found when to his ancient sway 

A king returns from exile, or an hour 

Of glory gilds the church in faithless climes. 



The childhood of the spring and summer flowers 
Now under Heaven's mild opening eye is seen, 
In joyful troop along the hedges green, 
Waiting expectant for the tranquil hours 
When Flora shall resume her ancient bowers. 
And call them each in their accustomed place 
In honour due her verdant reign to grace. 
Pass a few weeks, and let the healthful showers 
Descend upon them, and the breezes blow, 
And they will issue forth a festive band, 
Linked with each other, or advancing slow, 
In godliest grace and beauty o'er the land, 
All through the circling year : nor till the earth 
Be hid by snows of winter shall they cease their 
mirth. 



CHURCH POETKY FOR THE YEAR. 181 

And far and near beneath the hazel shade 

Anemone of the wood with saffron eye, 

Aerial Blue-bell like the summer sky, 

And that bright* flower which the Bard has made 

His own, by power of verse that ne'er shall fade, 

Came forth with Primrose pale to greet their Queen. 

And yellow meads of Daffodil were seen, 

And bands of pensive Cowslips, all arrayed 

In fairest garb. And purple Orchis too 

Rose up and joined the train. They came and went, 

Long ere the summer grass was risen high : — 

And yet the grazing cattle passed them by, 

Sparing their slender forms, as if they knew 

That on some service high they were intent. 

* " There's a flower that shall be mine, 
" 'Tis the lesser Celandine." 

Wordsworth. 




182 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



iFivst Sun&an after faster. 

Rev. Henry Alford. 

For whatsoever is born of God overcometh the world : and this 
is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith. 

1 St. John v. 4. 

The righteous souls are in the hand of God — 
No harm shall touch them — laid securely by 
Even in an infant's slumber, or perchance 
In gradual progress of their mighty change : 
The summer Sabbath is not half so calm 
As is the blessed chamber, where repose 
After their earthly labours, fenced around 
With guardian Cherubim that weary not, 
The spirits of the just : not cave of sleep 
In ancient Lemnos, murmured round by waves ; — 
Not the charmed slumber of that British king, 
Resting beneath the crumbled abbey-walls 
In the westward sloping vale of Avalon ; — 
Nor the ambrosial trance of Jove's great son 
That fell beneath Troy's walls — whom Death and 

Sleep 
On dusky-folded wings to Lycia land 
Bore through the yielding aether without noise. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 183 

But who can tell the glories of the day, 
When from a thousand hills and wooded vales 
This Earth shall send her tribute forth to God, 
Myriads of blessed forms — when her old wound 
Shall have been fully healed — the Covenant 
Rule in the bright ascendant — while above 
Throb through the air from new awakened harps 
Pulses of ancient song : and God's own Bride 
Drest for her Husband, lift her sky clear brow 
Out of the dust ? 

She dwells in sorrow long : 
Her sun of life and light hath sunk away ; 
Her night far spent it may be, yet is thick 
And hangeth heavily along the sky ; 
We cannot see her flowers that bloom around, 
Save where in dazzling clusters through the dark 
Her virgin lilies drink the scattered light : 
She feedeth upon dew distilled from earth 
And air, and transitory vapour dim : 
But still there is a brightness in the West 
Painfully traced by all her watchful sons ; 
Even the glory, at whose parting track 
The men of Galilee stood gazing up 
With shadowed foreheads, till the white-robed pair 
Spoke comfort ; and along the hopeful East 
A clear pale shining, promise of a day 



184 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Glorious and wonderful ; — the fainting stars 

Have lost their lustre — voice of wassail mirth 

Is none, for the revels of the Earth have past away ; 

All chivalry and pomp that was of yore, 

And fields of cloth of gold — all delicate work 

In metal and in stone, the pride of kings 

And task of captive tribes have ceased to be : 

Man misseth his old skill ; but ever wins 

Upon the world the calm and steady light 

Forerunning the great Sun ; that lighteth now 

Perchance fair orbs around us ; soon to burst 

In perfect glory on the Earth we love. 




CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 185 



St. JHarfe's 23 ag. 

THE POOR MAN AND HIS PARISH CHURCH. 

Rev . R. S. Hawkei . 

Reject not the supplication of the afflicted ; neither turn away 
thy face from a poor man. Turn not away thine eye from the 
needy, and give him none occasion to curse thee. Ecclus. iv. 4, 5. 

The poor have hands, and feet, and eyes, 

Flesh, and a feeling mind, 
They breathe the breath of mortal sighs — 

They are of human kind ! 
They weep such tears as others shed, 

And now and then they smile, 
For sweet to them is that poor bread 

They win with honest toil ! 

The poor men have their wedding-day, 

And children climb their knee, — 
They have not many friends, for they 

Are in such misery. 
They sell their youth, their skill, their pains, 

For hire, in hill and glen, 
The very blood within their veins 

It flows for other men ! 
r3 



186 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

They should have roofs to call their own 

When they grow old and bent, 
Meek houses built of dark gray stone, 

Worn Labour's monument ! 
There should they dwell beneath the thatch 

With threshold calm and free — 
No stranger's hand should lift the latch 

To mark their poverty. 

Fast by the Church those walls should stand, 

Her aisles in youth they trod, 
They have no home in all the land 

Like that old House of God ! 
There ! there ! the sacrament was shed 

That gave them heavenly birth, 
And lifted up the poor man's head, 

With princes of the earth ! 

There, in the chancel's voice of praise, 

Their simple vows were poured ; 
And angels look'd, with equal gaze, 

On Lazarus and his Lord ! 
There too, at last, they calmly sleep 

Where hallow'd blossoms bloom — 
And eyes as fond and faithful weep, 

As o'er the rich man's tomb ! 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR 187 

They told me of an ancient home 

Beside a churchyard wall, 
Where roses round the porch would roam, 

And gentle jasmines fall : — 
There dwelt an old man, worn and blind, 

Poor, and of lowliest birth, 
He seem'd the last of all his kind, 

He had no friend on earth ! 

Men saw him, till his eyes grew dim, 

At morn and evening-tide, 
Pass mid the graves with tottering limb, 

To the gray chancel's side : 
There knelt he down, and meekly pray'd 

The prayers his youth had known — 
Words by the old apostles made, 

In tongues of ancient tone ! 

At matin time, at evening-hour, 

He bent with reverent knee, 
The dial carved upon the tower 

Was not more true than he : 
This lasted till the blindness fell 

In shadows round his bed, 
And on those walls he lov'd so well 

He look'd — and thev were fled ! 



188 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Then would he watch and fondly turn, 

If feet of men were there, 
To tell them how his soul would yearn 

For the old place of prayer : — 
And some would lead him on, to stand 

While fast their tears would fall, 
Until he felt beneath his hand 

The long-accustom'd wall ! 

Then joy in those dim eyes would melt, 

Faith found the former tone — 
His heart, within his bosom, felt 

The touch of every stone ! 
He died ; he slept beneath the dew, 

In his own grassy mound > 
The corpse within the coffin knew 

That consecrated ground ! 

I know not why, but when they tell 

Of houses fair and wide, 
Where troops of poor men go to dwell 

In chambers side by side, 
I dream of that old cottage door 

W T ith garlands overgrown, 
And wish the children of the poor 

Had flowers to call their own ! 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 189 

And when they vaunt, that in those walls 

They have their worship-day, 
Where the stern signal coldly calls 

The prison'd poor to pray : — 
I think upon that ancient home 

Beside the churchyard wall, 
Where roses round the porch would roam, 

And gentle jasmines fall ! 

I see the old man of my lay, 

His gray head bow'd and bare, 
He kneels by one dear wall to pray — 

The sunlight in his hair ! 
Well ! they may strive as wise men will, 

To work with wit and gold, 
I think my own dear Cornwall still 

Was happier of old ! 

O ! for the poor man's Church again ! 

With one roof over all, 
Where the true hearts of Cornish men 

Might beat beside the wall ! 
The Altars, where in holier days 

Our Fathers were forgiven ; 
Who went with meek and faithful ways 

Through the old aisles to heaven ! 



190 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



THE PRIMROSE. 

S. R. 

Be steadfast in thy understanding, and let thy word be the 
same — Eccles. v. 10. 

I love not Comus' senseless glee, 

His riot mirth and laughter rude, 
Of joy the long monotony 

That makes man sigh for solitude : 
As little love I drooping ones, 

Who hang for aye the pensive head, 
As if our natural breath were groans, 

And sorrow were our daily bread. 

Therefore, sweet Primrose, I love thee, 

And every hedgerow thou dost press ; 
I look and love the constancy 

That lights thy nook with cheerfulness : 
When autumn gales sweep roughly round, 

And sister flowerets fade and droop, 
Thou dost not tremble at the sound, 

But show'st a bud or two of hope. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 191 

E'en on the bosom of the snow, 

Despite of winter's icy breath, 
Abroad thy fresh leaf thou dost throw, 

Meek triumph o'er surrounding death ! 
In summer drought, thou yet art seen 

When all are pining least distrest ; 
And still upon thy quiet green 

Our aching eyes with comfort rest. 

The first and blithest thou, to hear 

Nature's low voice that breathes of spring ; 
Thy golden tufts to gifted ear 

How sweet the fairy notes they sing ! 
In seasons drear thou didst not pine, 

But here thy bridal day we see, 
The very source of joy seems thine, 

Thou passest all in gaiety. 

'Tis all unworthy in dark hours 

To droop as hope itself were gone ; 
'Tis all as vain when fortune lowers, 

To laugh, and sing, and revel on ; 
Oh, be my heart a fresh Primrose, 

Despite of Time's all-sweeping scythe, 
Still hopeful amid drought and snows, 

In spring time blithest of the blithe ! 



192 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



Secontr Suntrag after 2£astet\ 

THE GROWTH OF WISDOM. 

Rev. I. Williams. 

Jesus said, I am the good shepherd ; the good shepherd giveth 
his life for the sheep.— St. John x. 11. 

How sweet the ways of wisdom early gained 
Growing with growth, and strength by strength 

attained, 
As higher heights and broader ways expand, 
A freer air more near th' immortal land, 
More treasure stor'd in Heaven ! Then Habit's 

might 
Gives armour, makes the yoke and burden light, 
When with spontaneous spring the heart ascends 
In prayer to Heaven, in prayer begins and ends ; 
Till custom shall to nature's strength attain, 
Duty her present joy, her future gain, 
Opening a wider path in green old age, 
Strewed with calm hopes of her high heritage. 

Then Wisdom's self descending from the sky, 
Shall train thy heart to glad philosophy ; 
And Christ Himself upon the way appears, 
In things of Heaven to school thine eyes and ears : 






CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 193 

To walk with thee as erst with them of old, 
And all the world around thee to unfold. 
The scene to worldlings where their glory dies, 
The grave w 7 herein their hope in ruin lies, 
Becomes replete with pictures ever new, 
Presenting Heavenly lessons to the view ; — 
Portraying things of our immortal birth, 
As evening clouds oft shadow things of earth, 
Obscure and transient, yet as by they sail, 
There the full heart reads many a solemn tale ; 
Each object seen becomes a speaking sign, 
Which with a finger points to things divine, 
A mirror wherein things celestial pass, 
Eternity disclosed as in a glass. 

For if Christ is within, enshrinM in light, 
From all without, from like or opposite, 
From scenes we meet, or by the way behold, 
He forms His parable, as erst of old, 
Giving the seeing eye and hearing ear, 
And heart to understand His presence near ; 
Till all around our life shall find a tongue, 
And witnesses of God our pathway throng. 

Then Nature all becomes a living book, 
Wherein the eyes of Faith for ever look, 
And see a Father's love, a Father's care : 
And the eternal kingdom rising there. 



194 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Then she walks forth 'neath Heaven's o'erhanging 

light, 
And reads the glorious tidings brought to sight, 
And carries on her holy orison 
Through all His works in sacred shrines begun. 

Read we in learned lore of rural scene ? 
Or range the moor and mount, and pause between ; 
Where fleecy wanderers browze the sunny hill, 
Or bleating drink of the dark winding rill, — 
While by the sidelong path and jutting rock, 
The shepherd hastens down to aid his flock ? 
That watchful guide, and wolf that prowls at eve, 
When thoughts of evil the weak bosom grieve, 
Shall speak of guardian love in dangers nigh — 
The Shepherd ready for His sheep to die ; 
On mountain sides and wilds all bleak and bare, 
Sweet are such lessons of His gentle care ; 
On wind and wave His presence seems to brood, 
Till that lone sheep-moor is not solitude. 

Then let me pass along to cultur'd plains, 
Lo, in destruction gay the charnock reigns, 
The proud usurper o'er the waving corn, 
Sharing soft dews, and rains, and rays of morn. 
Alas, in Christ's own kingdom all unseen, 
The footsteps of the deadly fiend have been ; 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 195 

Such are bad thoughts in the untutor'd breast ; 

Such the bad men that break the Church's rest. 

Thus e'en in sorrow we discern the sign, 

And read in works of men Thy truth divine ; 

Read Thine own lessons, and no more repine, 

But haply gain therein a thought of care, 

Of sleepers — and the harvest — and the tare. 
• • • * * 

Thus when the heart, from fleshly bonds made 
free, 
Attains to that immortal liberty ; 
The spirit of adoption shall make wise, 
And clothe the world with her own mysteries. 
The Spirit which made all things gives to read 
In His own works below His living creed. 

Then as we walk abroad, in singing bird 
A Father's care is seen, His praise is heard ; 
And lilies in their sweet and dewy nest, 
Speak of more radiant hues that shall invest 
The earth-soird soul, which, while it hastes to die, 
Is cloth'd afresh with immortality. 
While withering flowers which bloom but to decay, 
Sow seeds that shall abide the harvest-day ; 
And labouring ants still teach us at our feet 
Of heavenly stores, and some unseen retreat. 



196 



DAYS AND SEASONS, OK 



Soul-lighting Wisdom, unto whom is given, 
To find on earth a shadow of thy heaven, 
Purge from the dross of sin my feeble sight, 
That I thy blessed lore may read aright ! 




CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 197 



Cfjttfo Sutttrag after lEastn*. 

SUNDAY. 

Rev. F. W. Faber. 

Keep the Sabbath day to sanctify it.— Deut. v. 12. 

There is a Sabbath won for us, 

A Sabbath stored above, 
A service of eternal calm, 

An altar-rite of love. 

There is a Sabbath won for us, 

Where we shall ever wait 
In mute or voiceful ministries, 

Upon the Immaculate. 

There shall transfigured souls be filled 

With Christ's eternal name, 
Dipped, like bright censers, in the sea 

Of molten glass and flame. 

Yet set not in thy thoughts too far 

Our heaven and earth apart, 
Lest thou shouldst wrong the heaven begun 

Already in thy heart. 
s 3 



198 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Though heaven's above and earth's below, 

Yet are they but one state, 
And each the other with sweet skill 

Doth interpenetrate. 



Yea, many a tie and office blest, 
In earthly lots uneven, 

Hath an immortal place to fill, 
And is a root of heaven. 



And surely Sunday's bright and calm, 
So calm, so bright as this, 

Are tastes imparted from above 
Of higher Sabbath bliss. 

We own no gloomy ordinance, 

No weary Jewish day, 
But weekly Easters, ever bright 

With pure domestic ray ; 

A feast of thought, a feast of sight, 

A feast of joyous sound, 
A feast of merry hearts at rest, 

From labour's wheel unbound ; 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 199 

A day of such home-keeping bliss 

As on the poor may wait, 
With all such lower joys as best 

Befit his human state. 



He sees among the hornbeam boughs 

The little sparkling flood ; 
The mill-wheel rests, a quiet thing 

Of black and mossy wood. 

He sees the fields lie in the sun, 
He hears the plovers crying ,• 

The plough and harrow, both upturned, 
Are in the furrows lying. 

In simple faith he may believe 

That earth's diurnal way 
Doth, like its blessed Maker, pause 

Upon this hallowed day. 

And should he ask, the happy man ! 

If heaven be aught like this ; 
'Tis heaven within him, breeding there 

The love of quiet bliss. 



200 DAYS AND SEASONS, Oil 

Oh leave the man, my fretful friend ! 

To follow nature's ways, 
Nor breathe to him that christian feasts 

Are no true holidays. 

Is earth to be as nothing here 
When we are sons of earth ? 

May not the body and the heart 
Share in the spirit's mirth ? 

When thou hast cut each earthly hold 
Whereto his soul may cling, 

Will the poor creature left behind 
Be more a heavenly thing ? 

Heaven fades away before our eyes, 
Heaven fades within our heart, 

Because in thought our heaven and earth 
Are cast too far apart. 







CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 



201 




St. tff)tltp antr St. 3 antes. 

FIELD FLOWERS. 

Mrs. Wm. Hey. 

As the flower of the field he shall pass away. St. James i. 10. 

Flowers of the field, how meet ye seem, 

Man's frailty to portray, 
Blooming so fair in morning's beam, 

Passing at eve away ; 
Teach this, and Oh ! though brief your reign, 
Sweet flowers, ye shall not live in vain. 



202 DAYS AND SEASONS, Oil 

Go, form a monitory wreath 
For youth's unthinking brow ; 

Go, and to busy manhood breathe 
What most he fears to know ; 

Go, strew the path where age doth tread, 

And tell him of the silent dead. 

But whilst to thoughtless ones and gay 
Ye breathe these truths severe, 

To those who droop in pale decay 
Have ye no word of cheer ? 

Oh yes, ye weave a double spell, 

And death and life betoken well. 

Go, then, where wrapt in fear and gloom, 
Fond hearts and true are sighing, 

And deck with emblematic bloom 
The pillow of the dying ; 

And softly speak, nor speak in vain, 

Of your long sleep and broken chain. 

And say that He, who from the dust 
Recalls the slumbering flower, 

Will surely visit those who trust 
His mercy and His power ; 

Will mark where sleeps their peaceful clay, 

And roll, ere long, the stone away. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 203 



jFouttf) Suntrag after lEaster. 

PSALM XLVI. 

George Sandys. 

Thou shalt not be affrighted at them ; for the Lord thy God is 
among you, a mighty God and terrible. — Dent. vii. 21. 

God is our refuge, our strong tower ; 
Securing by His mighty power 
When dangers threaten to devour. 

Thus armed, no fears shall chill our blood, 
Though earth no longer steadfast stood, 
And shook her hills into the flood. 

Although the troubled ocean rise 
In foaming billows to the skies ; 
And mountains shake with horrid noise. 

Clear streams purl from a crystal spring, 
Which gladness to God's city bring, 
The mansion of the Eternal King. 

He in her centre takes his place ; 
What foe can her fair towers deface, 
Protected by His early grace ? 



204 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Tumultuary nations rose 

And armed troops our walls inclose, 

But His fearM voice unnerv'd our foes. 

The Lord of Hosts is on our side ; 

The God by Jacob magnified ; 

Our strength, on whom we have relied. 

Come, see the wonders he hath wrought 
Who hath to desolation brought 
Those kingdoms which our ruin sought. 

He makes destructive war surcease ; 
The earth deflowered of her increase, 
Restores with universal peace. 

He breaks their bows, unarms their quivers, 
The bloody spear in pieces shivers, 
Their chariots to the flame delivers. 

Forbear, and know that I the Lord 
Will by all nations be adored : 
Prais'd with unanimous accord. 

The Lord of Hosts is on our side, 

The God by Jacob magnified ? 

Our strength on Whom we have relied. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 205 



THE BUTTERCUPS. 

S. R. 

A merry heart doeth good like a medicine. — Prov. xvii. 22. 

We are of the happy few, 
Priz'd or not a cheerful crew ; 
O'er the meadow's kindred green, 
All in social consort seen, 
Casting round our own glad light, 
Making day to flowers at night. 
Ours is native cheerfulness ; 
Man, we ask not thy caress, 
Glittering as for pride or show ; 
'Tis our nature to be so. 
Call us gaudy, call us fine, 
Be it, to an eye like thine ; 
Fair He deems our finery, 
That created us and thee ! 
He it is uplifts our heads, 
Stars of these late dreary meads, 
And bids us our garland fling, 
Round about the brow of Spring, 

T 



206 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

When she dresses her so bright, 
All at sport for Winter's flight. 

Ye who pass with critie brow, 
And whose blunted spirits now 
Feel for us no sympathy ; 
Was it thus in infancy ? 
When your childish footsteps trod 
First of all the grassy sod ? 
Then old nurse could hardly stay, 
Her entranced runaway : 
Then bright king-cups wouldst thou pull, 
Till thy tiny hands were full ; 
And thy innocent heart and eyes, 
Glowed and beat of Paradise. 

Go, unlearn the ways of men, 
Be a little child again ; 
Doff thy mannish pride and shame. 
That dare call these pleasures tame ; 
Taste unspoil'd of miscalled lore, 
Joys that laugh about thy door. 
Yes ! at sight of flowers, with glee 
Dance in childhood's ecstacy ; 
Drink fresh draughts of pleasure up, 
Still from the homely Buttercup ; 
And let pure enjoyments be 
Fountains of staid bliss to thee ! 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 207 



TINTS OF SPRING. 

Rev. F. W. Faber. 



The trees of the wood rejoice before the Lord. 

Ps. xcvi. 12. 

The poets vaunt autumnal hues too much ; 

There is a season, a brief twenty days, 

Intercalated between summer's rays, 

And the green flush of spring, whose tints are such 

As for their depth and rich variety 

Autumnal colouring do outvie, 

In shading delicate and grace of touch. 

The gilded oak, the willow's pale sea-green, 
The sable pine with brilliant larches blending, 
And the fair birch its glossy plumage lending, 
To mediate the light and dark between ; 
The yellow beech, the manly sycamore, 
And clouds of cherry blossoms floating o'er, 
May well outdo sad autumn's broidered scene. 

And all is joy or hope in earth and sky ; 
'Tis not like autumn's pensive power, that lies 
In beautiful decay, which we so prize 
Because it is a glory passing by ; 



208 



DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



But a sweet sense that flowers are under-foot, 
And that long evenings now are taking root, 
And summer days foreshadowed pleasantly. 



JFiftl) S*tnfcag after faster. 

WRITTEN IN A PRAYER BOOK. 



D. 



Verily, verily, I say unto you, Whatsoever ye shall ask the 
Father in my name, He will give it you John xvi. 23. 

O man, where'er thou art, whatever fate 
Hath fallen to thee in this terrestrial round, 

Whether high born, and compassed round with state, 
Or with the learn'd and rich thy name be found, 
Or whether scarcely lifted from the ground, 

Poor, ignorant, and weak, thy hopes fly low, 

Still turn in prayer to Him who made thee so. 

Learning, alas ! is but an erring guide, 
Too dearly bought by many a wasted hour, 

And little may ye trust the boasts of pride, 
However high she seems to build her bower, 
Circled with shows of state and braves of power, 

And who on riches' wings do vainly fly 

Get the worse fall when nearer to the sky. 






CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 



209 



Then place not here your hope of lasting bliss, 
Where joys have so short term, arid toil so long, 

But to Religion fly, whose only is 

The armour that hath force to make thee strong, 
Beyond the reach of this vain world to wrong, 

Through the dear grace of Him who died to save 

Our souls from death, our bodies from the grave. 

If sick, His hovering wing shall bring thee health, 
If weak, His strength shall be thy firmest stay, 

If poor, His gracious word is truest wealth, 
If dark, the light of His celestial ray 
Shall pour into thy mind a brighter day ; 

Health, strength, true riches, light, His bounties are, 

And these shalt thou receive the gift of prayer. 




t3 



210 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

iSbe of Ascension. 

SONNET. 

Sir Philip Sidney. 

Lord, who shall dwell in Thy tabernacle : or who shall rest 
upon Thy holy hill ? — Ps. xv. 1. 

Leave me, O love ! which reachest but to dust, 
And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things ; 

Grow rich in that which never taketh rust ; 
What ever fades, but fading pleasure brings. 

Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might 
To that sweet yoke where lasting freedoms be, 

Which breaks the clouds, and opens forth the light, 
That doth both shine and give us light to see. 

O, take fast hold ! let that light be thy guide, 
In this small course which birth draws out to death, 

And think how evil becometh him to slide, 

Who seeketh heaven, and comes of heavenly breath. 

Then farewell, world, thy uttermost I see, 
Eternal Love, maintain thy life in me. 

Splendidis longum valedico nugis. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 



211 




Ascension Hag. 



THE ASCENSION OF CHRIST. 

Giles Fletcher. 



He was received up into heaven, and sat on the right hand of 
God. — Mark xvi. 19. 



Hark ! how the floods clap their applauding hands ; 

The pleasant valleys singing for delight ; 
And lofty mountains dance about the lands ; 

The while the fields, struck with the heavenly light, 
Set all their flowers a smiling at the sight ; 

The trees laugh with their blossoms ; and the sound 

Of the triumphant shouts of praise, that crown'd 
The Lamb of God ! rising to heaven, hath passage 
found. 



212 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Forth sprang the ancient Patriarchs, all in haste, 
To see the powers of hell in triumph led, 

And with small stars a garland interlac'd, 
Of olive leaves they bore, to crown His head, 
That was before with thorns so injured : 

After them flew the Prophets, brightly stol'd 
In shining lawn, with foldings manifold ; 

Striking their ivory harps, all strung with chords of 
gold. 

To which the Saints victorious carols sung ; 

Ten thousand strike at once, that with the sound, 

The hollow vaults of heaven for triumph rung : 
The Cherubim their music did confound 
With all the rest, and clapp'd their wings around. 
Down from their thrones the Dominations flow, 
And at His feet their crowns and sceptres throw ; 

And all the Princely souls fell on their faces low. 

Nor can the Martyrs'' wounds stay them behind, 
But out they rush amongst the heavenly crowd, 

Seeking their heaven, out of their heaven to find : 
Sounding their silver trumpets out so loud, 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 213 

That the shrill noise broke through the starry 

cloud ; 
And all the Virgin souls in white array, 
Came dancing forth and making joyous play ; 
So Him they thus conduct unto the courts of day. 

Now Him they brought unto the realms of bliss, 

Where never war, nor wounds, await Him more ; 
For in that place abides eternal peace : 
Where many souls arrived long before, 
"Whose lives were full of troubles great and sore ; 
But now, estranged from all misery, 
As far as heaven and hell asunder lie ; 
And every joy is crown'd with immortality. 

Gaze but upon the house where man doth live, 
With flowers and verdure to adorn his way ; 

Where all the creatures due obedience give ; 
The winds to sweep his chambers every day, 
And clouds that wash his rooms ; the ceiling gay 
With glittering stars, that night's dark empire 

brave ; 
If such an house God to another gave, 

How shine those splendid courts He for Himself 
will have. 



>14 



DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



And if a heavy cloud, opaque as night, 

In which the sun may seem embodied, 
Deprived of all its dregs we see so white, 
Burning in liquid gold his watery head, 
Or round with ivory edges silvered : 
What lustre supereminent will He 
Lighten on those who shall His sunshine see, 
In that all glorious court in which His glories be. 

If but one sun, with his diffusive fires, 

Can fill the stars and the whole world with light, 

And joy, and life, into each heart inspires ; 
And every saint shall shine in heaven, as bright 
As doth the sun in his transcendent might ; 
(As faith may well believe what truth once says) 
What shall so many suns' united rays 

But dazzle all the eyes that now in heaven we praise ? 



s^2i 




CHL'RCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 215 



Smrtrag after Us ecus ton. 

EARLY AUGUST. 

Rev. H. Alford. 

For ye are not as yet come to the rest and to the inheritance, 
which the Lord your God giveth you — Bcut. xii. 9. 

But we are drawing near — this bowered lane, ♦ 
With glimpses of the southern bank of hills, 
And ever through the bents, the blessed sea 
Far to the West, might stir a heavier heart 
Than thine and mine to leap with childish joy. 
Thanks to the arching boughs for stir of breeze, 
Scarce sensible but in their rustling leaves, 
Yet even thus most cooling ; thanks for shade 
Dark and continuous as we further climb, 
Like magic corridor deep down in earth, 
Thickening to perfect black ; whence in the glare 
Of sickly noon upon the autumn fields 
I have scared night birds, and have watched the bat 
Pass and repass alternate. How the sense 
Hails the dense gloom, and hastens to the cool . — 
Now rest thee here, where scarce the sun may see 
Our pleasant refuge ; where we scarce can tell 
There is an outward universe, so close 



216 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

And hallowed is the shade ; save where, through 

length 
Of dark perspective, yonder shine a group 
Of sunn} 7 tombstones, and one window pane, 
Lit with the noon, is glittering like a star 
Down even to us. 

I heard one say, 
It was an aged dame, whose humble cot 
Fronted our church-yard walls, — she loved to look 
When from the windows of the hallowed pile 
The sunbeam came reflected ; she could think 
Fondly, she said, that there were those within 
Whose robes were shining, thronging the deep aisles, 
And the promised glory of the latter house 
Would crowd upon her vision. 

Think we thus : 
And in yon vista of uncertain light 
If we behold in fancy this our life 
Chequered with dark and bright, and at its head 
The emblem of our end — let yonder gleam 
Tell us of glory fetched by angel hands 
To spread upon us : be to us a spark 
Lit at the altar of the Holy One, 
Over the majesty of patient Death 
Hovering, and waiting its appointed time 
To kindle all to life. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 217 

i£be of %Mi)it8UribK$. 

THE VALE OF OTTER. 

C. 

Stablish the thing, O God, that Thou hast wrought in us. 

Psalm lxviii. 28. 

O, Sal'ston knoll ! I love you well, 

And all your beechen skreen, 

And yon East hill's continuous swell, 

And Otter's brook between ; 
Your breeze, your waters, and your shade, 
Such as it is my being made. 

I love you well, sweet Vale ! for here 

My stream of life arose ; 
That stream that through the eternal year 

Shall flow as now it flows ; 
And howsoever it flows, from you 
Borrows a still unchanging hue. 

'Tis true ; I know not what shall be 

"When, all its wanderings ceased, 
It joins at length its parent sea ; 

But this I know at least, 
He who a proper being gave, 
That proper being still will save, 
u 



218 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

And therefore if some thoughts of blame 

And sorrow round thee cling, 
Yet still, sweet Vale ! I love thy name ; 

Thou art a sacred thing ; 
Alike for evil or for good, 
I cannot quit thee if I would. 

Then honour to St. Mary's tower ! 

The college and the school ! 
And honour to the Pixie's bower ! 

And to the Maiden pool ! 
May they to boys hereafter be 
The teachers they have been to me ! 

Still may these haunts, these groves, this sky, 

Kind ministrations yield ! 
The " common things that round them lie'' 

Their better nature build ! 
And teach them gently to improve 
All harsher feelings into love. 




CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 219 



He shall give you another Comforter, that he may abide with 
you for ever ; even the spirit of truth. — John xiv. 16, 17. 

Hickes' Devotions. 



Come, mild and holy Dove, 

Descend into our breast ; 
Do Thou in us, make us in Thee, 

For ever dwell and rest. 

Come, and spread o'er our heads 

Thy soft all-cherishing wing ; 
That in its shade we safe may sit, 

And to Thee praises sing. 

To Thee who giv'st us life ; 

Our better life of grace : 
Who giv'st us breath, and strength, and speed, 

To run and win our race. 

If by the way we faint, 

Thou reachest forth Thy hand ; 
If our own weakness makes us fall, 

Thou mak'st our weakness stand. 



220 DAYS AND SEASONS, Oil 

When we are sliding back, 
Thou dost our danger stop ; 

When we again, alas, are falPn, 
Again Thou tak'st us up ; 

Else there we still must lie, 
And still sink lower down ; 

Our hope to rise is all from Thee, 
Our ruin's all our own. 

O, my ingrateful soul ! 

What shall our dulness do 
For Him that does all this for us, 

Only our love to woo ? 

We'll love thee then, dear Lord ! 

But Thou must give that love ; 
We'll humbly beg it of Thy grace, 

But Thou our prayers must move. 

O hear thine own self speak ; 

For Thou in us dost pray ; 
Thou canst as quickly grant as ask, 

Thy grace knows no delay. 



:h poetry for the year. 221 




But he that doeth truth cometh to the light, that his deeds may 
be made manifest, that they are wrought in God.— John iii. 21. 

Rev. H. Alford. 



Truth loveth not to lavish upon all 
The clear downshining of her heavenly smile ; 
She chooseth those on whom its light shall fall, 
And shuts them from the earthly crowd the while : 
But they whom she hath lightened, tread this earth 
With step and mien of heavenly gentleness ; 
Ye shall not see them drunk with over-mirth, 
Or tangled in the world's thick wilderness ; 
For there hath shone upon their path of life 
Mild beamings from a hidden glory's ray ; 
A calm hath passed upon their spirit's strife, 
The bounding of young hopes hath sunk away, 
And certain bliss hath dawned, with still uprise, 
Likp thp de^p rest of joy in spirit's Paradise, 
u 3 



222 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



MUijtt ftuestiag. 

A HYMN. 

Rev. Thos. Whytehead. 

Then laid they their hands on them, and they received the 
Holy Ghost. — Acts viii. 17. 

The glittering grass, with dew-drops bright, 
Is all astir with twinkling light ; 
What pity such a fair array, 
So soon is meant to melt away ! 

Yet hath God given those drops a power 
To raise the grass and cheer the flower ; 
All the hot noon their grace shall bide, 
And fresh shall fall at even-tide. 

So day by day, O Lord, renew, 
The grace of my baptismal dew ; 
Let its sweet power be with me now, 
As when it sparkled on my brow. 

And evermore that gift bestow, 
While in Thy garden here I grow ; 
That still to heaven my growth may tend, 
From whence those blessed dews descend. 






CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 223 




Cvtnttp SinvDap. 

HYMN FOR TRINITY SUNDAY. 



B. J. W. 



And they rest not day and night, saying, Holy, holy, holy, Lord 
God Almighty, which was, and is, and is to come. — Rev. iv. 8. 

Blessed was the wondrous morning, 

When the light with gleaming ray 
New created worlds adorning, 

Kindled nature's primal day : 



224 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

The heavens with choral music rang, 

The stars in mystic concert sang, 
And all the sons of God with loud acclaim, 
Hymned forth the great Creator's praise — Jehovah's 
awful name. 

Was it mute, the heavenly chorus, 

On that no less blessed morn, 
When to ransom, to restore us, 

Christ in Bethlehem was born ? 
Ye heard it, simple swains, the strain 
That swelled o'er Judah's palmy plain, 
What time, at moonlight hour, heaven's hosts of 

flame 
Hymned forth the great Redeemer's praise — Jeho- 
vah's awful name. 

Though unheard by guilty mortals, 
Well we deem, no feebler choir 
Hailed Him from the heavenly portals, 
Him whose gifts were tongues of fire. 
Full surely they above the spheres, 
Who joy in contrite sinners' tears, 
With songs seraphic, earthward as He came, 
Hymned forth the Sanctifier's praise — Jehovah's 
awful name. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 225 

Lord, shall man alone Thy glory 

Scorn in thankful strains to own, 
Man, to whom the wondrous story 

Of redeeming love is known ? 
No : wake the pipe, and tune the string, 
And let us with the angels sing ; 
Our heavenly King, with heaven's bright host pro- 
claim, 
And hymn the Lord Almighty's praise — Jehovah's 
awful name. 

Praise to Him, the great Creator ; 
Praise to Him for us who died ; 
Be our nature's Renovator 

Praised with them and glorified ! 
Praise Him, ye isles, from sea to sea, 
Who was, Who is, AVho is to be ; 
Yea, let one chorus through creation's frame 
Hymn forth the One True Godhead's praise — Jeho- 
vah's awful name ! 




226 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



St. ISamafcas's 23ag. 



BROUGH BELLS. 



Southey. 



Whether he be rich, noble, or poor, their glory is the fear of the 
Lord. — Ecclus. x . 22. 

One day to Helbeck I had strolPd 

Among the Crossfell hills, 
And resting in its rocky grove 

Sat listening to the rills. 

The while to their sweet undersong 

The birds sang blithe around, 
And the soft west wind awoke the wood 

To an intermitting sound. 

Louder or fainter as it rose, 

Or died away, was borne 
The harmony of merry bells, 

From Brough that pleasant morn. 

" Why are the merry bells of Brough, 

My friend, so few ?" said I, 
They disappoint th' expectant ear, 

Which they should gratify. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 227 

One, two, three, four ; one, two, three, four ; 

'Tis still one, two, three, four, 
Mellow and silvery are the tones ; 

But I wish the bells were more I" 

" What ! art thou critical?" quoth he ; 

" Eschew that heart's disease 
That seeketh for displeasure where 

The intent hath been to please. 

" By those four bells there hangs a tale, 

Which being told, I guess, 
Will make thee hear their scanty peal 

With proper thankfulness. 

" Not by the Cliffords were they given, 

Nor by the Tuftons' line ; 
Thou hearest in that peal the crune 

Of old John Brunskill's kine. 



" On Stanemore's side one summer eve, 

John Brunskill sat to see 
His herds in yonder Borrodale 

Come winding up the lea. 



228 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

" Behind them on the lowland's verge, 

In the evening light serene, 
Brough's silent tower, then newly built 

By Blenkinsop, was seen. 

'* Slowly they came in long array, 

With loitering pace at will ; 
At times a low from them was heard, 

Far off, for all was still. 

" The hills returned that lonely sound 

Upon the tranquil air ; 
The only sound it was, which then 

Awoke the echoes there. 

" * Thou hear'st that lordly Bull of mine, 
Neighbour,' quoth Brunskill then ; 

* How loudly to the hills he crunes, 
That crune to him again, 

" ' Thinkest thou if yon whole herd at once 

Their voices should combine, 
Were they at Brough, that we might not 
Hear plainly from this upland spot 
That cruning of the kine ?' 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 229 

" * That were a crune, indeed,' replied 

His comrade, * which I ween, 
Might at the Spital well be heard, 

And in all dales between. 

" * Up Mallerstang to Eden's springs, 
The Eastern wind upon its wings, 

The mighty voice would bear ; 
And Appleby would hear the sound, 

Methinks, when skies are fair !' 

" * Then shall the herd,' John Brunskill cried, 

* From yon dumb steeple crune, 
And thou and I, on this hill-side, 

Will listen to their tune. 



" ' So while the merry bells of Brough, 

For many an age ring on, 
John Brunskill will remember'd be, 

When he is dead and gone ; 

" ' As one who in his latter years, 

Contented with enough, 
Gave freely what he well could spare 

To buy the Bells of Brough.' 



230 DAYS AND SEASONS* OR 

" Thus it hath proved : three hundred years 
Since then have passed away, 

And BrunskilPs is a living name 
Among us to this day." 

" More pleasure," I replied, " shall I 

From this time forth partake, 
When I remember Helbeck woods, 

For old John Brunskill's sake. 



" He knew how wholesome it would be, 
Among these wild wide fells, 

And upland vales, to catch, at times, 
The sound of christian bells ; 

" What feelings and what impulses 
Their cadence might convey, 

To herdsman or to shepherd boy, 

Whiling in indolent employ 
The solitary day. 

" That when his brethren were convened 

To meet in social prayer, 
He, too, admonish'd by the call, 

In spirit might be there. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 231 

" Or when a glad thanksgiving sound, 

Upon the winds of heaven, 
Was sent to speak a nation's joy, 

For some great blessing given — 

" For victory by sea or land, 

And happy peace at length ; 
Peace by his country's valour won, 

And 'stablish'd by her strength ; 

" When such exultant peals were borne 

Upon the mountain air, 
The sound should stir his blood, and give 

An English impulse there." 

Such thoughts were in the old man's mind, 

When he that eve look'd down 
From Stanemore's side on Borrodale, 

And on the distant town. 



And had I store of wealth, methinks, 

Another herd of kine, 
John Brunskill, I would freely give, 

That they might crune with thine. 



232 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



dFtrst Suntrag after Crtnttg. 

FAITH AND DUTY. 

Rev. I. Williams. 

Hereby we know that we dwell in him, and he in us.- 
John iv. 13. 



-Where duty lies, 



There is highest sacrifice ; 

Oft in lowliest tasks on earth 

Faith doth show her genuine birth, 

Giving them immortal worth ; 

And with incense fills the urn, 

Which before the Throne doth burn. 

All around His temple is, 

Here whate'er is done is His, 

Therefore all things 'neath the skies 

Are replete with auguries. 

" Holiness unto the Lord" 

Marks the staff, the scrip, the board, 

Harp, and spade, and book, and sword, — 

All the Royal Priesthood use. — 

Faith in all doth worth infuse. 

'Tis God's Temple all around, 

Upon all His Name is found ; 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 233 

It is the great Sabbath day, 
Lit by the great Morning's ray ; 
In the things that meanest lie 
Hideth best Humility ; 
And the varied minds of men, 
And the varied virtues, when 
They are lit by holy Love, 
Lustrous are as gems above ; 
Each with its own colour dight, 
All replete with living light ; 
Unto each its hue is given, 
Varied as those stones of Heaven. 
Love which, like an Angel's sight, 
Sees all things divinely bright, 
And each duty fills with rays, 
Fairer than the chrysoprase. 

Secontr ieuntran after £vtmtn. 

THE LOVE OF GOD.* 

S. R. 

And this is His commandment, That we should believe on the 
name of His Son Jesus Christ, and love one another, as He gave 
us commandment. 1 John iii. 23. 

Who ever marked the vernal glow, 
Purpling the latest hills of snow, 

* See Bishop Butler. 
x3 



234 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

And did not feel a sudden start 

Of gladness warm his frozen heart ? 

Who dances o'er the daisied mead 

With new born grass and king-cups spread, 

Nor owns the transport wont to bless 

The sense of present loveliness ? 

The soft round form, the speaking mien, 

'Tis not enough that they are seen ; 

Such magnet powers they oft contain, 

Still as we look we look again ; 

And yet the vision is so dear, 

We fain would keep it ever near. 

Man is not made but to admire, 
Bare intellect without desire ; 
He does not hold a wintry light 
Within his soul as cold as bright ; 
Wherever beauty comes to view 
He dwells with praise and fondness too. 
'Tis nature's self with love to rest, 
Where loveliness is seen imprest. 

Ah, say not then we vainly rove 
When our affection soars above ; 
Nor deem us set on fruitless task 
If God our veriest soul doth ask ; 
Say rather where all beauty blends, 
Thither of right the spirit tends ; 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 235 

And sure that knowledge is but dim 
That does not knit our souls to Him. 
Yes ; the fond heart that truly knows, 
In feeling as in knowledge grows : 
Learning from each, as both improve, 
Man's last best lesson, — God is Love. 



THE HONEYSUCKLE. 



For after this manner in the old time the holy women also, 
who trusted in God, adorned themselves.— 1 Pet. iii. 5* 



Midst flowers of lonely dell, or field, 
Or wood, or river's strand, 

That grow and all their beauty yield, 
Untouched by human hand, 

The honeysuckle, wild and fair, 

Seems least of all to seek our care. 

The careless form the colours mild, — 
Not such as strike the gaze ; 

And yet perchance no blossom wild 
So rich a scent betrays. 

So far, so full, the passing air 

The sweetness of its breath may bear. 



236 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Yet claims it never to possess 

A power to stand alone : 
With force of very helplessness 

Its tendrils upward thrown, 
Seek out a stronger stay, and fling 
Their wreaths, for evermore to cling : 

There like a faint soft light to shine, 

As if its thought might be 
How fairest might its garlands twine 

Around the sheltering tree ; 
And e'en its richest sweetness shed 
O'er boughs whence long the life hath fled. 

And o'er the lowly cottage wall 

How graceful doth it grow ! 
Meeter than over stately hall 

Its gentle wreaths to throw ; 
For ever with its odours come 
Sweet thoughts of quiet scenes and home. 

The fair wild Honeysuckle flower 

Seemeth of her to speak 
Who clings to home — her sheltering bower- 

With loving heart and meek. 
Careless for self, but full of care, 
That home be ever sweet and fair. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 23/ 

And there with calm soft light doth shine, 

There her mild grace bestow ; 
And still with fonder grasp will twine 

Where 'tis her lot to grow ; 
And ceaseless there her sweetness shed, 
E'en though love's earthly bliss hath fled. 

Joyful, though but in humble cot, 

Her quiet task to see ; 
Since meeter far the lowlier lot 

For heavenly love may be. 
Nor once her passing thought would roam 

From the calm shade — the holy home. 




238 



DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 




SUMMER 



HYMN FOR MORNING. 



Parnell. 



We must prevent the sun to give Thee thanks, and at the day- 
spring pray unto Thee. Wis. xvi. 28. 



See the star that leads the day, 
Rising, shoots a golden ray, 
To make the shades of darkness go 
From Heaven above, and Earth below ; 
And warn us early with the sight, 
To leave the beds of silent night ; 
From a heart sincere and sound, 
From its very deepest ground ; 
Send devotion up on high, 
Wing'd with heat to reach the sky. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 239 

See the time for sleep has run, 

Rise before, or with the Sun : 

Lift thy hands and humbly pray 

The Fountain of eternal day ; 

That, as the light serenely fair, 

Illustrates all the tracts of air ; 

The Sacred Spirit so may rest, 

With quickening beams, upon thy breast ; 

And kindly clean it all within, 

From darker blemishes of sin ; 

And shine with grace until we view 

The realm it gilds with glory too. 

See the day that dawns in air, 

Brings along its toil and care : 

From the lap of night it springs, 

With heaps of business on its wings ; 

Prepare to meet them in a mind, 

That bows submissively resigned ; 

That would to works appointed fall, 

That knows that God has ordered all. 

And, whether with a small repast, 

We break the sober morning's fast ; 

Or in our thoughts and houses lay 

The future methods of the day ; 

Or early walk abroad to meet 

Our business, with industrious feet : 



240 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Whate'er we think, whate'er we do, 
His glory still be kept in view. 
O, Giver of eternal bliss ; 
Heavenly Father, grant me this ; 
Grant it all as well as me, 
All whose hearts are fix'd on Thee ; 
Who revere Thy Son above, 
Who Thy Sacred Spirit love. 

HYMN FOR NOON. 

Parnell. 

At noon-day will I pray. Psalm lv. 18. 
The Sun is swiftly mounted high, 
It glitters in the southern sky ; 
Its beams with force and glory beat 
And fruitful earth is fill'd with heat. 
Father, also with Thy fire 
Warm the cold, the dead desire, 
And make the sacred love of Thee, 
Within my soul, a sun to me. 
Let it shine so fairly bright, 
That nothing else be took for light ; 
That worldly charms be seen to fade 
And in its lustre find a shade. 
Let it strongly shine within, 
To scatter all the clouds of sin, 



CHURCH P0ETUY FOR THE YEAR. 241 

That drive when gusts of passion rise, 
And intercept it from our eyes. 
Let its glory more than vie 
With the Sun that lights the sky : 
Let it swiftly mount in air, 
Mount with that, and leave it there ; 
And soar with more aspiring flight, 
To realms of everlasting light. 
Thus while here I'm forc'd to be, 
I daily wish to live with Thee ; 
And feel that union which Thy love 
Will, after death, complete above. 
From my soul I send my prayer, 
Great Creator, bow Thine ear ; 
Thou, for whose propitious sway 
The world was taught to see the day ; 
Who spake the Word and Earth begun, 
And show'd its beauties to the Sun ; 
With pleasure I Thy creatures view, 
And would, with good affection too ; 
Good affection sweetly free, 
Loose from them, and move to Thee ; 
O, teach me, due returns to give, 
And to Thy glory let me live ; 
And then my days shall shine the more, 
Or pass more blessed than before. 

Y 



242 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



HYMN FOR EVENING. 

Parnell. 

Let my prayer be set forth before thee as incense ; and the 
lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice.— Ps. cxli. 2. 

The beam-repelling mists arise, 
And evening spreads obscurer skies ; 
The twilight will the light forerun, 
And night itself be soon begun. 
Upon thy knees devoutly bow, 
And pray the Lord of glory now, 
To fill thy breast, or deadly sin, 
May cause a blinder night within. 
And whether pleasing vapours rise, 
Which gently dim the closing eyes ; 
Which make the weary members bless'd, 
With sweet refreshment in their rest ; 
Or whether spirits in the brain 
Dispel their soft embrace again ; 
And on my watchful bed I stay, 
Forsook by sleep, and waiting day ; 
Be God for ever in my view, 
And never He forsake me too ; 
But still as day concludes in night, 
To break again with new-born light ; 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 



243 



His wondrous bounty let me find, 
With still a more enlightened mind ; 
When grace and love in one agree, 
Grace from God and love from me ; 
Grace that will from Heaven inspire 
Love that seals it in desire ; 
Grace and love that mingle beams, 
And fill me with increasing flames. 
Thou that hast Thy palace far 
Above the moon and every star, 
Thou that sittest on a throne 
To which the night was never known, 
Regard my voice and make me blest, 
By kindly granting its request. 
If thoughts on Thee my soul employ, 
My darkness will afford me joy, 
Till Thou shalt call, and I shall soar» 
And part with darkness evermore. 




244 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

r>dv ti to -^tivpia/iACt. 



JC 



Hear attentively the noise of His voice, and the sound that 
goeth out of His mouth. Job xxxvii. 2. 

They say who know of nature's lyre the tones 
That whispering airs in voices manifold 
All through the live-long day and night are told 
To wakeful ears, whether the wind thro' cones 
Of Fir-tree wantons, or mid branches old 
Of Oak-tree, or of Ash, or as he plays 
Umbrageous Elms among, or Poplar sprays. 
They do not err, and yet not half unfold 
The eternal depth of nature's harmonies. 
So from the thunder-clap that rends the skies 
To the sleep-breathing where an infant lies, 
Whate'er between of high or low around 
Falls on the ear within the senses' bound 
Bespeak one million-chorded Thing of sound. 

1829. 

Yes they are still the same— the Eternal sky 
The circling hills that bound my native vale, 
The old familiar trees, the southern gale 
That steals from ocean's breast the rising sigh, 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 245 

The winding stream whose murmuring lullaby 

Should woo my soul to peace, the joyful song 

Of close secluded bird that all day long 

Pours forth his tender burst of minstrelsy. 

But O, ye dear companions of my youth, 

Where are ye fled ? I call — but to my voice 

Ye make no answer — melancholy truth 

That Nature should be changeless, but the joys 

That follow life so soon should pass away, 

While things so s< fair and sweet" do bid them stay. 

FLOWERS SCATTERED BY ANGELS. 

Cowley. 

And the Lord God planted a garden eastward in Eden. Gen, 
ii. 8. 

Some, as they went, the blue eye'd violet strew, 
Some spotless lilies in loose order threw ; 
Some did the way with full-blown roses spread, 
Their smell divine and colour strangely red ; 
Not such as our dull gardens proudly wear, 
Whom weathers taint, and w r ind's rude kisses tear : 
Such I believe w r as the first rose's hue, 
Which at God's word in beauteous Eden grew ; 
Queen of the flowers which made that orchard gay 1 
The morning blushes of the Spring's new day. 
y3 



246 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



iSue of St. $oI)n. 

Wordsworth. 

Ye have not spoken of Me the thing that is right.— Job xlii. 7. 

Life's autumn past, I stand on winter's verge, 

And daily lose what I desire to keep ; 

Yet rather would I instantly decline 

To the traditionary sympathies 

Of a most rustic ignorance, and take 

A fearful apprehension from the owl 

Or death-watch, and as readily rejoice, 

If two auspicious magpies cross'd my way ; 

To this would rather bend than see and hear 

The repetitions wearisome of sense, 

Where soul is dead, and feeling hath no place ; 

"Where knowledge, ill begun, in cold remark 

On outward things, with formal inference ends : 

Or, if the mind turn inward, 'tis perplexed, 

Lost in a gloom of uninspired research ; 

Meanwhile, the heart within the heart, the seat 

Where peace and happy consciousness should 

dwell. 
On its own axis restlessly revolves, 
Yet nowhere finds the cheering light of truth. 



CHURCH TOETRY FOR THE YEAR. 247 



£t, 3Jof)n iSapltst's Dan. 



EPHPHATHA. 

Rev. R. S. Hawker. 

The day-spring from on high hath visited us ; to give light to 
them that sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our 
feet into the way of peace. St. Luke i. 78-79. 

High matins now in bovver and hall ; 
It is the Baptist's festival : 
What showers of gold the sunbeams rain 
Through the tall window's purple pane ! 
What rich hues on the pavement lie, 
A molten rainbow from the sky ! 

But light and shadow loveliest fall 
Yonder, along the southward wall ; 
Where ceased, even now the chanted hymn 
Of that grey man whose eyes are dim : 
'Twas an old legend quaintly sung, 
Caught from some far barbaric tongue. 



248 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

He asks — and bread of wheat they bring; 
He thirsts for water from the spring, 
Which flow'd of old, and still flows on, 
With name and memory of St. John : 
So fares the pilgrim in that hall, 
Even on the Baptist's festival. 

" How sad a sight is blind old age !" 
Thus said the lady's youthful page. 
" He eats — but sees not on that bread 
What glorious radiance there is shed ; 
He drinks from out that chalice fair, 
Nor marks the sunlight glancing there." 

" Watch, gentle Ronald, watch and pray ! 
And hear once more an old man's lay : — 
t cannot see the morning pour'd, 
Ruddy and rich, on this gay board ; 
I may not trace, the noonday light, 
Wherewith my bread and bowl are bright : 

" But thou, whose words are sooth, hast said 
That brightness falls on this fair bread ; 
Thou sayest — and thy tones be true — 
This cup is tinged with heaven's own hue. 
I trust thy voice — I know from thee 
That which I cannot hear nor see. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 249 

" Watch, gentle Ronald, watch and pray ! 
It is the Baptist's holy day. 
Go, where in old Morwenna's shrine, 
They break the bread and bless the wine : 
There meekly bend thy trusting knee, 
And touch — what sight can never see ! 

" Thou wilt behold, thy lips may share 

All that the cup and paten bear ; 

But life unseen moves o'er that bread — 

A glory on that wine is shed — 

A light comes down, to breathe and be, 

Though hid, like summer-suns from me. 

" Watch, gentle Ronald, watch and pray ! 
Day oft is night, and night is day : 
The arrowy glance of lady fair 
Beholds not things that throng the air ; 
The clear bright eye of youthful page 
Hath duller ken than blind old age !" 

'Tis even-song in bower and hall 

On the bold Baptist's festival ; 

The harp is hush'd, and mute the hymn, 

The guest is gone whose eyes are dim ; 

But evermore to Ronald clung 

That mystic measure quaintly sung. 



250 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



THE SUMMER SNOW-FLAKE. 

M. H. 

Blessed of the Lord be his land, for the precious things of 
heaven, for the dew, and for the deep that coucheth beneath, and 
for the precious fruits brought forth by the sun, and for the pre- 
cious things put forth by the moon. — Deut. xxxiii. 13, 14. 

How silently amongst the garden flowers 

Thou springest forth in pale and wintry guise, 

Lone visitant ! amid the roseate bowers 

Of summer beauty, where resplendent dyes, 
Bright ruby glowing purple, feast the eyes 

With rich luxuriance, and soft odours float 
On the still air, we see thy form arise, 

A spectre of the past, and scarcely note 

Thy coming ere we feel thou bringest change of 
thought. 

A change of thought and feeling. Flush with joy 
At nature's loveliness, the willing heart 

Had yielded to th' enervating employ 

Of counting earthly treasures viewed apart 
From Him who gave them, but to us thou art 

Memento of that time when sad and drear 
The world around us, and our patient part, 

Appointed, was to wait in hope and fear 

Till His reviving ray bade brighter things appear. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 251 

Oh ! thou hast sprung up silently whilst night 
Bathed with her dews and shrouded 'neath her 
veil 

The glorious things around thee, hid from sight 
Unfolded gracefully thy blossoms pale, 
In fearless innocence. Thou tell'st a tale 

Which they who run may read. Then let us learn 
The lesson, and thy voiceless preaching hail, 

That whilst our hearts at summer's glory burn 

With grateful joy, 'mid joy His work we may 
discern. 

For He hath given night to nurture flowers 

In dewy silence ; nor for this alone 
Nights' mission comes ; amidst life's sunniest hours 

She interposes stillness ; from her throne 

A voice goes forth and bids His power be known ; 
His Spirit dews then on the heart, distil 

Gently as dews on growing flowers drop down, 
And holy thoughts are nursed, when at His will 
We commune with our hearts and on our beds are 
still. 




252 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



Cf)ttiJ Simtiag after Cttmuj. 

THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED. 

Mrs. Southey. 

The Lord maketh poor, and maketh rich : He bringeth low, and 
lifteth up. He raiseth up the poor out of the dust, and lifteth up 
the beggar from the dunghill, to set them among princes, and to 
make them inherit the throne of glory. 1 Sam. ii. 7, 8. 

Tread softly — bow the head — 

In reverent silence bow — 
No passing bell doth toll, 
Yet an immortal soul 

Is passing now. 

Stranger ! however great, 

With lowly reverence bow ; 
There's One in that poor shed — 
One by that paltry bed — 

Greater than thou. 

Beneath that beggar's roof, 

Lo 1 Death doth keep his state : 

Enter — no crowds attend — 

Enter — no guards defend 
This palace gate. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 253 

That pavement damp and cold 

No smiling courtiers tread ; 
One silent woman stands 
Lifting with meagre hands 

A dying head. 

Xo mingling voices sound — 

An infant wail alone ; 
A sob suppress'd — again 
That short deep gasp, and then 

The parting groan. 

Oh ! change — Oh ! wondrous change — 

Burst are the prison bars — 
This moment thou so low, 
So agonized and now 

Beyond the stars ! 

Oh ! change — stupendous change ! 

There lies the soulless clod : 
The Sun eternal breaks^ 
The new Immortal wakes — 

■am 

Wakes with his God ! 



254 



DAYS AND SEASONS, O Ft 




THE ROSE. 



S. D. 



And blossom as the rose. — Isaiah xxxv. 1. 

" There is no flower that blows" — 

Such are the words of song — 
" So lovely as the Rose :" 
Nor thus, perchance, we wrong 
The fairest blossoms that around may throng. 



What flower that decks the earth 
Can show so varied grace, 

Or shed its sweetness forth 
Over so wide a space ? 
So little recks the Rose of time or place. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 255 

O'er hedgerow green, in spring, 

When the mild breezes play, 
The pale wild roses fling 

Their lightly wreathing spray, 
And strew their petals fair by rude and lonely way. 



When shineth summer light, — 

In every garden-glade 
Flush forth the blossoms bright : 
And sweetest is the shade 
Where clustering roses twined, a bower of rest have 
made. 



Some wear the spotless snow, 

Or faintest blush betray ; 
Or deepest crimson glow, 

Or colours bright and gay, 
Like hues that tinge the sky at close of summer day. 



And oft some lonely rose 

Doth linger last of all, 
When wind of Autumn blows, 

When frosts of Autumn fall ; 
Like memory sad and sweet, past summer to recall. 



256 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Then cometh winter morn — 

And still the rose is fair ; 
The bitter change hath borne, 
And still unharmed doth bear ; 
Even while the bending flower a veil of snow doth 
wear. 

Can Love so written be 

In any flower that blows ? 
Well therefore may we see 
That lovely is the Rose ; 
Like to Love's holy fount, whence sweetness ever 
flows. 

So freed from bounds of time, 

From bounds of time or space ; 
Scarce heeding changeful clime : 
With ever-varying grace 
As best may seem its lot, may brighten best its 
place. 

Nor say — it is not meet 

Love's image be allied 
With that which all so sweet, 
So sharp a thorn doth hide — 
O, who would lose the pain that springeth by 
Love's side ! 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 257 

And deepest then of all, 

We learn Love's bliss to know, 
When keen frosts o'er us fall, 
When blast of bitter woe 
Hath buried deep earth's joys, as 'neath the winter 
snow. 

£be of St. IMer, 

THE ASPEN. 

Mrs. William Hey. 

For though the Lord be high, yet hath He respect unto the 
lowly ; as for the proud, He beholdeth them afar off. — Psalm 
cxxxviii. 6. 

Daylight is closing, but the west 

Still with the pomp of sunset glows 
And crimson cloud on mountain's breast, 

And tower, and spire, its radiance throws, 
While one by one in eastern skies 
11 The stars which usher evening rise." 

How deep, how holy is the calm ! 

Each sound seems hush'd by magic spell, 
As if sweet peace her honeyed balm 

Blent with each dewdrop as it fell. 
Would that the cares which man pursue 
A pause like this of nature knew. 
z3 



258 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Yet in this deep tranquillity, 

When e'en the thistle's down is still, 

Trembles yon towering aspen-tree, 
Like one whose by-gone deeds of ill, 

At hush of night, before him sweep 

To scare his dreams and " murder sleep." 

Far off in Highland wilds, 'tis said, 
(But truth now laughs at fancy's lore,) 

That of this tree the cross was made, 
Which erst the Lord of Glory bore, 

And of that deed its leaves confess 

E'er since a troubled consciousness. 

We boast of clearer light, but say — 
Hath science, in her lofty pride, 

For every legend swept away, 

Some better, holier truth supplied ? 

What hath she to the wanderer given 

To help him on his road to heaven ? 

Say who hath gazed upon this tree 
With that strange legend in his mind, 

But inward turned his eye to see 
If answering feeling he could find, 

A trembling for that guilt which gave 

His Saviour to the cross and grave ? 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 259 

And who such glance did inward bend, 

But scorned the apathy and pride 
Which makes him slight that more than Friend 

For Him who bled, for Him who died ; 
Nor pray'd his callous heart might prove 
What 'tis to tremble, weep, and love ? 



St. liter's Sag. 

THE RIVER ROTHAY WHEN ITS COURSE WAS 
CHANGED. 

Rev. F. W. Faber. 

And, now, Lord, behold their threatenings : and grant unto thy 
servants, that with all boldness they may speak Thy word. 

Acts iv. 29. 

Sweetly wandering from my way 
Once I paused in many a bay, 
By a leaning oak half spanned, 
Or a drooping wychelm fanned, 
Or at noonday clouded o'er 
By a nodding sycamore, 
While the sun fell through the eaves 
Of the ever-twinkling leaves, 
Playing through the weedy rents 
Of the underwater tents, 



260 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

By cool-rooted alder trees 
Pitched far down, with lattices 
Where light and limpid water pour 
And weary not hour after hour. 
Then was I beautiful, and then 
Purchased looks of love from men 
And praises from the poets, glad 
When gladness wrought in me, and sad 
Whensoe'er of frolic weary 
I, like men, took sanctuary 
In opposites : — but now, in awe 
Of man, I swerve from that sweet law 
Of nature, and have thereby lost 
All the charms that were my boast. 
This then be the warning given, — 
While the single eye of Heaven 
Doth the preacher train and school 
With its ever-present rule, 
In his mouth the harshest lore 
Hath a secret winning power, 
Springing oft he knows not whence 
And transcending barren sense : 
But should he chance before the gaze 
Of man to crouch, or, for the praise 
The world would offer, to divert 
The sacred stream of truth, and hurt 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 261 

The pastures of the little sheep 
He hath been ordained to keep, 
From his preaching will depart 
All that magic of the heart, 
All the store of simple spells 
Whereby faith works her miracles. 

Yet from this injurious wrong 
Of my poor stream may Christian song 
Cheerful wisdom thus distil ; 
If I do but now fulfil 
Half mine office to the eye 
Of the thoughtless wandering by, 
To the Angel or the Saint 
My disfigured type, though faint, 
Doth a loftier meaning bear, 
Than when they vouchsafed to spare 
All my pastoral wanderings free 
In their first integrity. 

* * * * 

Yon mighty lake's sweet-watered sea, 
Minstrel ! is my eternity ; 
And by duty narrowed now, 
Straight unto that rest I flow, 
Well content for such an end 
The price to pay, full many a bend 



262 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Of tuneful water to forswear 

And sweet delay, one only care 

Being left unto me — to prepare 

To mingle with the blessed peace, 

And mingling with it to increase 

Its blessedness, as souls perchance 

The rest of other souls enhance, 

Gently gathered, one by one, 

After each day's battle done. 

So with thee, when duty spoils 

Wilful grace with Christian toils, 

And confines in narrow bed 

Thy young life — be comforted ; 

Though less lovely it may be, 

The road is shorter to the sea ; 

If it gives through public strife 

A rougher aspect to thy life, 

Still the end is nearer brought, 

The end for which thy life hath wrought ; 

Self only dies ; the gasp of death, 

What is it but the earliest breath, 

We draw on that eternal shore 

Where there is life for evermore ? 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 



263 




iTourtf) Suntrag after Crtmtp. 



FROM 



THE CONTRAST." 

Rev. F. W. Faber. 



For the earnest expectation of the creature waiteth for the 
manifestation of the sons of God. — Rom. viii. 19. 

Within a natural temple of old pine, 
On whose grey columns and red withered floor 
The sun w 7 ith noontide force could barely shine, 
I lay at ease ; around me a gay store 
Of cuckoo- plant, with white and winking eyes 
Furled and unfurled among the starting roots did rise. 



Invisible creatures rustled in the moss 
And the crisp leaves ; a wild suspicious eye 
Look'd from a thrush's nest : and at a loss 



264 DA¥S AND SEASONS, Oil 

To find his master, closely harboured nigh, 
My dog at times among the boughs was seen, 
Like some white thing that floats deep in the waters 
green. 

And by the tiny trumpets of the bees 
Was I well soothed, and the blythe insect hum ; 
And winds were born and died within the trees, 
Prisoned and stifled in the leafy gloom : 
The plaint of lambs, the tinkling of a brook, 
Refined by distance came unto this sombre nook. 

Aloft the stock-doves seemed with their deep 

cooing 
All the broad wood to quiet and control, 
An eloquence like the continual wooing 
Of holy thoughts within a Christian's soul : 
Remote I saw some horses in the plough, 
The world — seen, as the Saint should see it far below. 

God's blessing was upon the earth, all bound 
In deep content and joy from vale to height ; 
There was that concord of harmonious sound, 
Those thrillings almost vocal, of strong light, 
Suggesting to transported ear and eye 
A present Power, diviner than tranquillity. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 265 

Homeward I went, with thoughts such as might wait 
Upon the vision in that shelter given, 
In meditation chastened yet elate, 
When all things seem transparent, and true Heaven 
Glows through all earthly loveliness and power, 
As though the veil were being consumed hour after 
hour. 

Then suddenly by duty was I led 
Unto a scene of desperate misery, 
A moaning sinner on his dying bed, 
A drunkard — Oh, how unprepared to die ! 
Too weak for Prayer, for Sacrament unmeet, 
O Heaven ! what sight was this a pastor's eye to 
greet ! 

But let us veil the scene : a cooling breeze 
Through the porch honeysuckle gently sighing, 
The singing birds, clear hills, and budding trees — 
Amid all this the sinner lay a- dying : 
O when I quitted that most dismal room 
The outward sunshine was all baffled by the gloom. 

Most unharmonious world ! which can compress 
Such horror and such sweetness in an hour, 
As though all beauty and all fearfulness 
Turned on one hinge, were but one folding door, 



266 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Each counteracting each, with woe and mirth 
In mutual eclipse o'ershadowing the earth. 

Such and so solemn is the pastor's life, 
Strange alternations which, well weighed may yield 
Reasonings sublime, and contemplation rife 
With virtuous purposes, by faith to build 
The soul which doth among such fortunes range. 
The death bell tolls : Christ aid him in his fearful 
change ! 



dFtftt) Sunfcan after ftrinttg. 

THE FIVE PRECEPTS. 

S. R. 

For he that will love life, and see good days, let him refrain his 
tongue from evil, and his lips that they speak no guile : let him 
eschew evil, and do good ; let him seek peace, and ensue it. For 
the eyes of the Lord are over the righteous, and His ears are open 
unto their prayers — 1 Peter iii. 10, 11, 12. 

Christian, dost thou feel within 
The strength and guiltiness of sin ; 
Wouldst thou slave thee thus no more 
But be thine own great conqueror ? 
Wouldst thou onward daily press 
Strong in truth and righteousness ? 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 267 

Listen then, duly list 
The sage and saintly moralist, 
Let him point to thee the way, 
And travel thou it day by day. 

First, take heed to calm and still 
All thy passions and thy will ; 
Great excitements stop or fly 
Nor ruffle that Serenity 
Which only keeps the spirit free 
Life's hid path to search and see. 

Next, in work or rest be sure, 
Thou keep thy Conscience bright and pure, 
Revere thou it, consult it well, 
Bid it a true judgment tell 
And what once it hath thee show'd, — 
Follow as the voice of God. 

Further, deem thou things in life 
Ordered all for virtue's strife, 
Whatsoe'er each day befall 
Still keep the right in great and small ; 
For doing ill or doing well 
In either, leads to Heaven or Hell. 

Say'st thou, — all this can I do ? — 
You cannot ; Prayer must strengthen you ; 
Prayer that comes from kneeling heart, 
Calling the Mightiest to thy part. 



268 



DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



And bearing up a broken spirit 
To courage high in Jesu's merit. 

Lastly, ere thou lay'st thee down, 
Ponder all that thou hast done, 
All thou hast said or thought or felt ; 
And truly be thy censure dealt 
For blame or praise : then take thy rest 
On Mercy's pillow and be blest. 

O Christian, to these precepts give 
Thy mind each day and by them live ; 
Then in goodness thou shalt grow, 
Long as thou art here below, 
And nearer shalt thou feel thou art 
To the blessed pure in heart, 
Till from sin and trial freed 
Thou art pure and blest indeed. 




CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 269 



Stxtf) Suntrag after Ctuutn. 



LAMENTING THE LOSS OF FIRST LOVE. 

Mason. 

For if we have been planted together in the likeness of His 
death, we shall be also in the likeness of His resurrection : know- 
ing this, that our old man is crucified with Him, that the body of 
sin might be destroyed, that henceforth we should not serve sin. 

Rom. vi. 5, 6. 

O that my Soul was now as fair 

As it has sometimes been, 
Devoid of that distracting care 

Without, and guilt within : 



There was a time when I could tread 

No circle but of love ; 
That joyous morning now is fled, 

How heavily I move ! 

Unhappy soul, that thou shouldst force 

Thy Saviour to depart, 
When He was pleased with so coarse 

A lodging in thy heart ! 
Aa3 



270 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

How sweetly I enjoy'd my God ! 

With how divine a frame 1 
I thought, on every plant I trod 

I read my Saviour's name. 

I liv'd, I lov'd, I talk'd with Thee 

So sweetly we agreed, 
And Thou no Stranger wast to me 

Till I became a weed : 



The tempter robb'd me, and I must 

I fear be ever poor ; 
May this suffice, to roll in dust 

Before Thy temple door. 

My dearest Lord, my heart flames not 
With Love, that sacred fire ; 

But since my love has worn that blot, 
Repentance runs the higher : 

O might those days return again, 
How welcome they should be ! 

Shall my Petition be in vain 
Since Grace is ever free ? 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 271 

Lord of my soul, return, return, 

To chase away this night, 
Let not thine anger ever burn ; 

God once was my delight. 



THE LILY. 



S. D. 



My beloved is gone down into his garden, to the beds of spices 
to feed in the gardens, and to gather lilies.— Cant. vi. 2. 

He who amidst the sweets of summer bowers 

Oft musing strays, 
Pausing the while to bend o'er cherish'd flowers 

Fond, frequent gaze — 

Seemeth to read, as in bright cups of dew 

Reflected deep, 
Thoughts sweet and loving, visions fair yet true, 

Which there enfolded sleep. 

And if midst holiest words the Lily's name 

Doth written lie, 
More earnest gaze the snow-white blossoms claim 

From thoughtful eye. 



272 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Oft hath the Lily been the poet's theme — 

But all too weak 
The words that make it but the image seem 

Of some fair maiden's cheek. 

Fair flower ! they wrong thee who thus lightly heed 

Thy lesson sure, 
Nor in thy spotless hue the likeness read 

Of spirit pure — 

Of virgin spirit -, — innocent and meek, 

As maiden mild ; 
Nor this alone : — of high resolve doth speak 

Thy blossom undefined. 

Stately the " noble plainness" of the form, 

Untouched by pride ; 
Thou droopest not, but dost the sun or storm 

Calmly abide. 

Priest-like thy mien :— for ever looking up, — 

And still forth given 
The sweetness which thine ever-raised cup 

Seemeth to draw from heaven. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 



273 



Like to some saintly one thou seem'st to stand 

In robe of snow, 
And meekly steadfast, wait the heavenly Hand 

That seeks where lilies grow. 




274 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



THE WILD STRAWBERRY. 

31. H. 

He giveth to all life, and breath, and all things ;— and hath de- 
termined—the bounds of their habitation.— Acts xvii. 25, 26. 

E'en in this quiet lane the tainted air 

Hangs like a pall suspended o'er our head, 
And the crush'd ashes 'neath our loitering tread 

Tell of the neighbouring mart of toil and care. 

How should the wandering eye discover there 
Or flower or fruit ; yet nature is not dead, 
Still on this spot her influence is shed, 

The red fruit ripens and the flower blooms fair. 

Pluck the Wild-strawberry and let it cool 
Thy parched lip, and grateful moisture give, 

And with its freshness inward musing bring 

Of the blest Spirit straitened by no rule 
Of time or place. What matter where we live ? 

In duty's path God bids His blessings spring. 




CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 2~Jo 



iSfce of St. 3James. 

Elegiac Poems. 

I sat alone because of Thy Hand,— Jer. xv. 17. 

Men will be light of heart and glad, 

When we are sad ; 
Or if perchance our hearts are light, 

With them 'tis night. 

Kind Nature, but 'tis never thus 

With thee and us : 
But thee in all our moods we find 

Unto our mind. 

We laugh, — and dance in all thy bowers 

The jocund flowers — 
We mourn and every flower appears 

Bedropt with tears. 

O Mother true, from ways of men 

To this far glen, 
Dear Mother, to thy breast I creep, 

And weep, and weep. 



276 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



St, § ames's 33 ag. 

Wordsworth, 

A mean estate is not always to be contemned.— Ecclus. xxii. 23. 

You behold 
High on the breast of yon dark mountain — dark 
With stony barrenness, a shining speck 
Bright as a sunbeam sleeping till a shower 
Brush it away, or cloud pass over it ; 
And such it might be deemed — a sleeping sunbeam ; 
But 'tis a plot of cultivated ground, 
Cut off, an island in the dusky waste ; 
And that attractive brightness is its own. 
The lofty site, by nature framed to tempt 
Amid a wilderness of rocks and stones 
The Tiller's hand, a Hermit might have chosen, 
For opportunity presented, thence 
Far forth to send his wandering eye o'er land 
And ocean, and look down upon the works, 
The habitations, and the ways of men, 
Himself unseen ! But no tradition tells 
That ever Hermit dipped his maple dish 
In the sweet spring that lurks mid yon green fields ; 
And no such visionary views belong 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 277 

To those who occupy and till the ground ; 
And on the bosom of the mountain dwell — 
A wedded Pair in Childless solitude 
— A House of stones collected on the spot, 
By rude hands built, with rocky knolls in front 
Backed also by a ledge of rock, whose crest 
Of birch-trees waves above the chimney top : 
In shape, in size, and colour, an abode 
Such as in unsafe times of Border war 
Might have been wished for and contrived — to elude 
The eye of roving Plunderer, for their need 
Suffices ; and unshaken bears the assault 
Of their most dreaded foe the strong South-west, 
In anger blowing from the distant sea. 
—•Alone within her solitary Hut ; 
There, or within the compass of her fields, 
At any moment may the Dame be found, 
True as the Stock-dove to her shallow nest 
And to the grove that holds it. She beguiles 
By intermingled work of house and field 
The summer's day, and winter's ; with success 
Not equal, but sufficient to maintain, 
Even at the worst, a smooth stream of content, 
Until the expected hour at which her Mate 
From the far -distant Quarry's vault returns ; 
And by his converse crowns a silent day 
b b 



278 



DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



With evening cheerfulness. In powers of mind, 
In scale of culture, few among my Flock 
Hold lower rank than this sequestered Pair, 
But humbleness of heart descends from Heaven, 
And that best gift of Heaven hath fallen on them ; 
Abundant recompense for every want. 

Stoop from your height, ye proud, and copy these ! 
Who, in their noiseless dwelling-place, can hear 
The voice of wisdom whispering Scripture texts 
For the mind's government, or temper's peace ; 
And recommending, for their mutual need, 
Forgiveness, patience, hope, and charity ! 




CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 279 



Sebentf) Suntrag after STvimtg. 



SONNET. 

Drummond. 

But now being made free from sin, and become servants to God, 
ye have your fruit unto holiness, and the end everlasting life. 

Rom. vi. 22. 

Look as the flower which lingeringly doth fade, 
The morning's darling late, the summer's queen, 
Spoil'd of that juice which kept it fresh and green, 
As high as it did raise bows low the head : 
Right so the pleasures of my life being dead, 
Or in their contraries but only seen, 
With swifter speed declines than erst it spread, 
And blasted scarce now shows what it hath been. 
Therefore as doth the Pilgrim, whom the night 
Hastes darkly to imprison on his way, 
Think on thy home, my soul, and think aright, 
Of what's yet left thee of life's wasting day : 
Thy sun posts westward, passed is thy morn, 
And twice it is not given thee to be born. 



280 BAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



EMPLOYMENT. 

George Herbert. 

Yield your members servants to righteousness unto holiness. 

Rom. vi. 19. 

If, as a flower doth spread and die, 
Thou wouldst extend to me some good 
Before I were by frost's extremity 
Nipt in the bud ; 

The sweetness and the praise were Thine : 
But the extension and the room, 
Which in Thy garland I should fill, were mine, 
At Thy great doom. 

For as Thou dost impart Thy grace, 
The greater shall our glory be. 
The measure of our joys is in this place, 
The stuff with Thee. 

Let me not languish then, and spend 
A life as barren to Thy praise, 
As is the dust, to which that life doth tend, 
But with delays. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 281 

AJ1 things are busy ; only I 
Neither bring honey with the bees ; 
No flowers to make that, nor the husbandry 
To water these. 



I am no link of Thy great chain, 
But all my company is as a weed — 
Lord ! place me in Thy concert ; give one strain 
To my poor reed. 



SNAPDRAGON. 



The grass withereth, the flower fadeth, but the word of our 
God shall stand for ever. — Isaiah xl. 8. 

I am rooted in the wall 

Of buttressed tower and ancient hall ; 

Mortared in a barren bed, 

By the cunning trowel spread ; 

Of a living stock alone 

Brother of the lifeless stone. 

Bb3 



282 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Else unprized, I have my worth 
On the spot that gave me birth ; 
Nature's vast and varied field 
Braver flowers than me will yield, 
Bold in form and rich in hue, 
Children of a purer dew ; 
Smiling lips and winning eyes 
Meet for earthly paradise. 

Choice are such, and yet thou knowest 
Highest he whose lot is lowest. 
They, proud hearts, a home reject 
Framed by human architect ; 
Humble I — can bear to dwell 
Near the pale recluse's cell, 
And I spread my crimson bloom, 
Mingled with the cloister's gloom. 

Life's gay gifts and honours rare, 
Flowers of favour ! win and wear. 
Rose of beauty, be the queen 
In pleasure's ring and festive scene. 
Ivy, venturous plant, ascend 
Where lordly oaks a bold stair lend. 
Vaunt, fair lily, stately dame, 
Pride of birth and pomp of name. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 283 

Miser crocus, starved with cold, 

Hide in earth thy timid gold. 

Travelled dahlia thine the boast 

Of knowledge brought from foreign coast. 

Pleasure, wealth, birth, knowledge, power, 

These have each an emblem flower ; 

So for me alone remains 

Lowly thought and cheerful pains. 

Be it mine to set restraint 

On roving wish and selfish plaint ; 

And for man's drear haunts to leave 

Dewy morn and balmy eve. 

Be it mine the barren stone 

To deck with green life not its own, 

So to soften and to grace 

Of human works the rugged face. 

Mine the Unseen to display 

Where crowds bedim truth's languid ray, 

Where life's busy arts combine 

To shut out the Hand Divine. 

Ah ! no more a scentless flower, 
By approving Heaven's high power, 
Suddenly my leaves exhale 
Fragrance of the Syrian gale. 



284 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Ah ! 'tis timely comfort given 
By the answering breath of heaven ! 
May it be ! then well might I 
In college cloister live and die. 



iStgf)tt) Suntran after STrimtg. 

' u 7rav x.\r\fX(X ev t/j*oi /l*.t, tpipov xapTroV) ciipti av 7o." 

Every tree that bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down, and 
cast into the fire.— St. Matt. vii. 19. 

I marked high towering o'er a gay green wood 
A leafless withered thing by Summer's day 
Caressed, and fondled by the genial ray, 
By dews soft-falling and cool breezes wooed, 
But thankless there full many a year it stood. 
There had boon nature tried her art in vain 
And ministering powers came, a genial train ; 
It heeded not — unmoved and unrenewed. 
In the rich garden of Thy love, O Lord, 
Mid fruitful plants that draw their life from Thee, 
Graceless and barren let me not be found. 
O let Thy Spirit win me, lest the word 
Go forth, as erst against the unfruitful tree, 
Down with it — for it cumbereth the ground. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 285 



"AOYTPOX." 



And if children, then heirs ; heirs of God, and joint-heirs with 
Christ. — Rom. viii. 17. 

Upon its mother's arm it lay 
And life was fleeting fast away, 
But deep the little wrist within, 
There was a gentle throbbing felt, 
As if the blood could scarcely win 
Its feeble way. In prayer I knelt 
While tears the household shed — 
Then sprinkled on the peaceful brow 
The Sacramental drops for sin, 
The drops the atoning blood that show 
Of HIM for man who bled. 
I thought as gazing on the face 
And limbs whereon the hues of death 
Were gathering apace, 
How sweet, how sure its rest, — 
Thought, as it sighed away its breath 
And passed in spirit to the Blest, 



286 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

O, happy babe, that bearest hence 
The seal of love which Christ will own ! 

Lo ! thou art gone ! — 
And I the blessed Rite hath done 
That brings the Eternal Recompense. 



Nmti) Suntran after ftvinitg, 



WRITTEN AT A SEAT, UNDER SOME SEQUESTERED OAKS, IN A 
NATURAL WILDERNESS, NEAR GESTINGTHORPE. 

Jones of Nay land, Sep. 26. 1792. 

But he himself went a day's journey into the wilderness, and 
came and sat under a juniper tree : and he requested for himself 
that he might die ; and said, It is enough ; now, O Lord, take 
away my life ; for I am not better than my fathers. — 1 Kings 
xix. 4. 

Hail, Solitude ; how sweet thy shade, 
For holy contemplation made ! 
Far from the world, no more I see 
That stage of sin and vanity. 
While nations rage, my ravish'd sight 
I lift to realms of peace and light, 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 287 

And hear celestial voices sing 
The praise of their immortal King. 
Here would I sit, to peace consign'd, 
And leave a troubled world behind, 
Till angels waft me hence, to rest 
In Paradise among the blest ; 
With hermits there to taste of bliss, 
Who walked with God in shades like this. 

THE FOREGOING VERSES HAVING BEEN SENT TO A FRIEND, 
THE FOLLOWING REPLY TO THEM, IN THE SAME LATIN AND 
ENGLISH MEASURE, WAS RECEIVED BY THE RETURN OF THE 

post. George Henry Glasse. 

Alas, in what inglorious strains 

My own heroic friend complains ! 

Wilt thou, a gallant vet'ran, yield, 

And still unconquered, quit the field ? 

Enamour'd of monastic ease, 

Say, dost thou pant for shades like these ? 

Is it a time to seek repose, 

When, all around, insulting foes, 

A furious rash impetuous throng, 

Eager for combat, rush along, 

Their banners raise with hideous cry, 

And truth and God Himself defy ? 

Not through the silence of the groves. 
Which pensive meditation loves, 



288 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

But through fierce conflicts and alarms, 
The din of war, the clang of arms, 
And all the terrors of the fight 
The Christian seeks the realms of light. 
Foremost amidst the ensanguined flood, 
(His sacred garments dipt in blood) 
On thee thy Saviour casts His eyes ; 
" My fellow-soldier, hail !" He cries. 
Consign'd to thee by His command 
The sword of truth adorns thy hand ; 
He bids thee wield it on the plain, 
Bids thee His own great cause maintain, 
And, after one laborious day, 
To endless glory points the way. 




CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 289 



Cent!) Sunfoag after Crttutg. 

George Herbert. 
My house is the house of prayer. — St. Luke xix. 46. 

Restore to God His due in tithe and time, 
A tithe purloin'd cankers the whole estate 
Sundays observe : think, when the bells do chime, 
'Tis angel music ; therefore come not late : 
God then deals blessings : If a king did so, 
Who would not haste, nay give, to see the show ? 

Twice on the day His due is understood ; 

For all the week thy food so oft He gave thee. 

Thy cheer is mended ; bate not of the food, 

Because 'tis better, and perhaps may save thee. 
Thwart not th' Almighty God : O be not cross, 
Fast when thou wilt ; but then 'tis gain, not loss. 

Though private prayer be a brave design, 
Yet public hath more promises, more love ; 
And love's a weight to hearts, to eyes a sign : 
We all are but cold suitors ; let us move 

Where it is warmest. Leave thy six and seven ; 

Pray with the most : for where most pray, is heaven. 
c c 



*290 DAYS AND SEASONS, OK 

When once thy foot enters the church, be bare : 
God is more there than thou : for thou art there 
Only by His permission. Then beware, 
And make thyself all reverence and fear. 
Kneeling ne'er spoil'd silk stocking : quit thy state, 
All equal are within the church's gate. 

Resort to sermons, but to prayers most : 
Praying's the end of preaching. O be drest ! 
Stay not for the other pin : why, thou hast lost 
A joy for it wwth worlds. Thus hell doth jest 
Away thy blessing, and extremely flout thee, 
Thy clothes being fast, but thy soul loose, about thee. 

In time of service seal up both thine eyes, 
And send them to thine heart ; that spying sin, 
They may weep out the stains by them did rise. 
Those doors being shut, all by the ear comes in. 

Who marks in Church time others' symmetry 

Makes all their beauty his deformity. 

Let vain or busy thoughts have there no part : 
Bring not thy plough, thy plots, thy pleasure thither » 
Christ purg'd His temple ; so must thou thy heart. 
All worldly thoughts are but thieves met together 

To cozen thee. Look to thy actions well ; 

For Churches are either our heaven or hell. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 



291 



Judge not the preacher ; for he is thy judge : 
If thou mislike him thou conceives! him not. 
God calleth preaching folly. Do not grudge 
To pick out treasures from an earthen pot. 

The worst speak something good : if all want sense, 
God takes a text and preacheth patience. 

He that gets patience and the blessing which 
Preachers conclude with, hath not lost his pains, 
He that by being at Church escapes the ditch, 
Which he might fall in by companions, gains. 
He that loves God's abode, and to combine 
With Saints on earth, shall one dav with them shine. 




292 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



iSUbentf) guntrag after Crinitg. 

o. 

Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures. 

1 Cor. xv. 3. 

Under the ocean wind, constant and strong, 
The billows foam, and rise and sweep along, 
Till their white crests high arching o'er the sand, 
They break in thunder o'er the changeless strand. 

'Reft of Thy word, O God, what mind could bear 
Its ineffectual struggles with despair ? 
'Reft of Thy grace, what working heart contain 
Satan's fierce promptings, Nature's passionate strain ? 

Spirit of Power ! for Jesus' sake be near, 
And tame the tossing tide of doubt and fear ! 
Let it no more gather its waters, Lord J 
But break and scatter on Thy constant word ! 

Lo ! an atoning God in mercy frame, 
And Justice on the cross our only claim ! 
Our only claim ! Enough, enough is there, 
To win all love, to banish all despair ! 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 293 



EVIDENCES OF RELIGION. 

Mr. Aubrey de Fere. 

Brethren, I declare unto you the Gospel which I preached unto 
you, which also ye have received, and wherein ye stand : — 1 Cor. 
xv. I. 

Letters there be too large for us to read : 
Words shouted mock the sense, and beat the air — 
Emblazon not in such a type thy creed : 
Through such a trumpet peal not thou thy prayer. 
Truth has her Saxon friends of whom beware — 
She is not yet at her extremest need : 
To him who seeks her pure in heart and deed, 
Her pledges and her proofs are every where. 
Whate'er we hear or see : whate'er doth lie 
Round us in Nature : all that human thought 
In science, or in art, hath found or wrought, 
Stand fixed as notes on Truth's immortal book. 
What need we more ? a Commentary ? look 
Through all the mighty roll of History ! 




c c 3 



294 



BAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



THE GRASS OF PARNASSUS. 

M. H. 

Be of good comfort and fear not. And hasten not with the 
times that are past, to think of vain things, that thou mayest not 
hasten from the latter times. — 2 Esdras vi. 33, 34. 

Threading my way through low and marshy ground, 
Sudden, up-rising from that bed, 
Before my feet I found 
Thy nectar'd head. 

Pale, glimmering like some solitary star 

Through summer evening's fading light, 
Thou too, canst lead afar 
My visions bright. 

Not unto sidereal regions vast, 

" Urging aloft the thought sublime," 
But vistas of the past, 
Receding time. 

Time when first toiling up huge Cheviot's steep 
I learned thy shell-like form to know, 
And felt my young heart leap, 
My young cheek glow. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 295 

Parnassia ! How full of classic fame 

And fabled story teemed each thought 
The magic of that name 
To me then brought. 



Grasping my prize, upon the brow I stood, 
Breathless at last, and gazed where wide 
Stretched many a lengthening rood, 
To ocean's tide. 



As that fair landscape, touched by morning's beam, 
Burst forth reviving to the view, 
Doth memory at thy gleam 
That scene renew ; 



With brilliant pencil, lovelier than before, 
Painting each heath-clad pass and fell, 
Yet tale of classic lore 
No more doth tell. 



But distant pointing where the Holy Isle 
Sheltered the Fathers of our faith ; 
Or Bamborough's towers still smile, 
To save from death. 



296 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Or nearer, where round Yeverin may claim 
Homage from reverential heart ; 
Linked with Paulinus' name, 
It stands apart ; 

By that connexion hallowed — Thousands heard 
First uttered there the glorious sound 
Of God's eternal Word, 
Salvation found. 



Do I not long to tread those hills again ! 
Yet thou shouldst waken in my breast, 
Glad flower ! no longings vain, 
But hope of rest, 

Here, in this lowly spot, thou bloomest bright, 
As where earth's nobler scenes appear, 
Gladdening the wanderer's sight, 
Thy home is here. 

Oh ! taught by thine example, may I check 
Each vague repining wish to roam, 
Grateful if peace may deck 
My quiet home. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 



297 



Grateful if whilst youth's fabled visions fade, 
The garnered store of riper days, 
May, by God's grace, be made 
To yield Him praise. 

Praise from a heart, like thee, thou cheerful flower ! 
Contented in the station given, 
Through every varying hour 
Looking to Heaven. 




298 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



3Ene of St. ISartijoiometo. 

INSCRIPTION, ON A CHILD AGED SIX YEARS. 

Anon. 

Nevertheless we, according to His promise, look for new hea- 
vens and a new earth. — 2 Peter iii. 13. 

Thou hast left us all alone 

In the radiant summer-time : 
We miss thy waking gleesome tone, 

Thy laughter's pleasant chime. 

The fragrant fields^ where thou didst play, 
Are all untrodden now ; we look 

For thee by every sylvan way, 
And every leafy brook. 

Thou comest not ! thy book of Prayer 

Is lying on the window seat : 
The flowers that deck'd thy golden hair 

Are still unwithered and sweet. 

Thou sittest by some silver stream 

That wandereth through Elysian bowers, 

And on thy peaceful face doth gleam 
A fairer light than ours. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 299 



St. 13attf)oIometo, 

THE MONK AND BIRD. 

Rev. R. C. Trench. 

He maketh the doctrine of knowledge appear as the light, and 
as Geon in the time of vintage. 

The first man knew her not perfectly : no more shall the last 
find her out. 

For her thoughts are more than the sea, and her counsels pro- 
founder than the great deep.— Eccles. xxiv. 27, 28, 29. 

As he who finds one flower sharp thorns among, 
Plucks it, and highly prizes, though before 

Careless regard on thousands he has flung, 
As fair as this or more ; 



Not otherwise perhaps this argument 

Won from me, where I found it, such regard, 

That I esteemed no labour thereon spent, 
As wearisome or hard. 

In huge and antique volume did it lie, 

That by two solemn clasps was duly bound, 

As neither to be opened or laid by 
But with due thought profound. 



300 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

There fixed thoughts to questions did 1 lend, 
Which hover on the bounds of mortal ken, 

And have perplexed, and will unto the end 
Perplex the brains of men ; 

Of what is time, and what eternity, 

Of all that seems and is not — forms of things, 
Till my tired spirit followed painfully 

On flagging weary wings. 

So that I welcomed this one resting-place, 
Pleased as a bird, that when its forces fail, 

Lights panting on the ocean's middle space 
Upon a sunny sail. 

And now the grace of fiction, which has power 
To render things impossible believed, 

And win them with the credence of an hour 
To be for truths received — 

That grace must help me, as it only can, 

Winning such transient credence, while I tell 

What to a cloistered solitary man 
In ancient times befell. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 301 

Him little might our earthly grandeur feed, 
Who to the uttermost was vowed to be 

A follower of his Master's barest need, 
In holy poverty. 

Nor might he know the gentle mutual strife 
Of home affections, which can more or less 

Temper with sweet the bitter of our life, 
And lighten its distress. 



Yet we should err to deem that he was left 
To bear alone our being's lonely weight, 

Or that his soul was vacant and bereft 
Of pomp and inward state ; 

Morn, when before the sun his orb unshrouds, 
Swift as a beacon torch the light has sped, 

Kindling the dusky summits of the clouds, 
Each to a fiery red — 

The slanted columns of the noon-day light, 
Let down into the bosom of the hills, 

Or sunset, that with golden vapour bright 
The purple mountains fills — 
d d 



302 DAYS AND SEASONS, Oil 

These made him say, — if God has so arrayed 
A fading world that quickly passes by, 

Such rich provision of delight was made 
For every human eye, 

What shall the eyes that wait for Him survey, 
Where His own presence gloriously appears 

In worlds that were not founded for a day, 
But for eternal years ? 

And if at seasons this world's undelight 
Oppressed him, or the hollow at its heart, 

One glance at those enduring mansions bright, 
Made gloomier thoughts depart ; 

Till many times the sweetness of the thought 
Of an eternal country, — where it lies 

Removed from care and mortal anguish, brought 
Sweet tears into his eyes. 

Thus not unsolaced, he long while abode, 
Filling all dreary melancholy time, 

And empty spaces of the heart with God, 
And with this hope sublime : 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 303 

Even thus he lived, with little joy or pain, 

Drawn through the channel by which men receive — 

Most men receive the things which for the main 
Make them rejoice or grieve. 

But for delight — on spiritual gladness fed, 
And obvious to temptations of like kind ; 

One such, from out his very gladness bred, 
It was his lot to find. 



When first it came, he lightly put it by, 
But it returned again to him ere long, 

And ever having got some new ally, 
And every time more strong — 

A little worm that gnawed the life away 
Of a tall plant, the canker at its root, 

Or like as when, from some small speck, decay 
Spreads o'er a beauteous fruit. 

For still the doubt came back, — can God provide 
For the large heart of man what shall not pall, 

Nor through eternal ages' endless tide 
On tired spirits fall. 



304 DAYS AND SEASONS, Oil 

Here but one look towards heaven will repress 
The crushing weight of undelightful care ; 

But what were there beyond, if weariness 
Should ever enter there ? 



Yet do not sweetest things here soonest cloy ? 

Satiety the life of joy would kill, 
If sweet with bitter, pleasure with annoy, 

Were not attempered still. 



This mood endured, till every act of love, 

Vigils of praise and prayer, and midnight choir, 

All shadows of the service done above, 
And which, while his desire, 



And while his hope was heavenward, he had loved, 
As helps to disengage him from the chain 

That fastens unto earth — all these now proved 
Most burdensome and vain. 



What must have been the issue of that mood 
It were a thing to fear — but that one day, 

Upon the limits of an ancient wood, 
His thoughts him lead astray. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 305 

Darkling he went, nor once applied his ear, 

On a loud sea of agitations thrown, 
Nature's low tones and harmonies to hear, 

Heard bv the calm alone. 



The merry chirrup of the grasshopper, 

Sporting among the roots of withered grass, 

The dry leaf rustling to the wind's light stir 
Did each unnoted pass : 

He, walking in a trance of selfish care, 

Not once observed the beauty shed around, 

The blue above, the music in the air, 
The flowers upon the ground ; 

Till from the centre of that forest dim 
Came to him such sweet singing of a bird 

As sweet in very truth, then, seemed to him, 
The sweetest ever heard. 



That load-star drew him onward, inward still, 
Deeper than where the village children stray, 

Deeper than where the woodman's glittering bill 
Lops the large boughs away — 
d d3 



306 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Into a central space of glimmering shade, 

Where hardly might the struggling sunbeams pass, 

Which a faint lattice-work of light had made 
Upon the long lank grass. 

He did not sit, but stood and listened there, 
And to him listening the time seemed not long, 

While that sweet bird above him, filled the air 
With its melodious song. 

He heard not, saw not, felt not aught beside, 
Through the wide world of pleasure and of pain, 

Save the full flowing and the ample tide 
Of that celestial strain. 



As though a bird of Paradise should light 
A moment on a twig of this bleak earth, 

And singing songs of Paradise invite 
All hearts to holy mirth, 

And then take wing to Paradise again, 
Leaving all listening spirits raised above 

The toil of earth, the trouble and the pain, 
And melted all in love : 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 307 

Such spiritual might, such power was in the sound, 
But when it ceased sweet music to unlock, 

The spell that held him sense and spirit-bound, 
Dissolved with a slight shock. 

All things around were as they were before — 
The trees and the blue sky, and sunshine bright, 

Painting the pale and leaf-strewn forest floor 
With patches of faint light. 

But as when music doth no longer thrill, 

Light shudderings yet along the chords will run, 

Or the heart vibrates tremulously still, 
After its prayers be done, 



So his heart fluttered all the way he went, 
Listening each moment for the vesper bell ; 

For a long hour he deemed he must have spent 
In that untrodden dell. 



And once it seemed that something new or strange 
Had passed upon the flowers, the trees, the ground, 

Some slight but unintelligible change 
On every thing around : 



308 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Such change, where all things undisturbed remain, 

As only to the eye of him appears, 
Who absent long, at length returns again — 

The silent work of years. 

And ever grew upon him more and more 
Fresh marvel, for unrecognized of all, 

He stood a stranger at the convent door — 
New faces filled the hall. 



Yet was it long ere he received the whole 

Of that strange wonder — how, while he had stood 

Lost in deep gladness of his inmost soul, 
Far hidden in that wood, 



A generation had gone down unseen, 

Under the thin partition which is spread — 

The thin partition of thin earth — between 
The living and the dead. 

Nor did he many days to earth belong, 
For like a pent-up stream, released again, 

The years arrested by the strength of song, 
Came down on him amain ; 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 



309 



Sudden as a dissolving thaw in spring ; 

Gentle as when upon the first warm day, 
Which sunny April in its train may bring, 

The snow melts all away. 

They placed him in his former cell, and there 
Watched him departing ; what few words he said 

Were of calm peace and gladness, with one care 
Mingled — one only dread — 

Lest an eternity should not suffice 

To take the measure and the breadth and height, 
Of what there is reserved in Paradise — 

Its ever new delight. 




310 RAYS AND SEASONS, OH 



Ctoelftfj Suntiag after Crinitg. 

Hickes' Devotions. 

Not that we are sufficient of ourselves to think any thing as of 
ourselves ; but our sufficiency is of God. — 2 Cor. iii. 5. 

'Tis not for us, and our proud hearts, 
O mighty Lord 1 to chuse our parts ; 

But act well what Thou giv'st : 
'Tis not in our weak power to make 
One step o' th' way we undertake ; 

Unless Thou us reliev'st. 

What Thou hast given Thou canst take, 
And, when Thou wilt, new gifts canst make ; 

All flows from Thee alone : 
When Thou didst give it, it was Thine ; 
When Thou retook'st it, 'twas not mine : 

Thy will in all be done. 

It might perhaps too pleasant prove, 
Too much attractive of my love ; 

So make me less love Thee : 
Some things there are Thy Scriptures say, 
And reason proves, that heav'n and they 

Do seldom well agree. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 



311 



Lord, let me then sit calmly down, 
And rest contented with my own 

That is what Thou allow'st : 
Keep Thou my mind serene and free, 
Often to think on heaven and Thee ; 

And what Thou there bestow'st. 

There let me have my portion, Lord : 
There all my losses be restored ; 

No matter what fails here : 
Is't not enough that we shall sing, 
And love for ever our blest King ; 

Whose goodness brought us here ? 

Great God, as thou art One, may we 
With one another all agree ; 

And in thy praise conspire : 
May men and Angels join and sing 
Eternal hymns to Thee their King ; 

And make up all one Choir. 




312 



DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 




THE FUSCHIA. 



S. D. 



A garden inclosed is my sister, my spouse.— Cant. iv. 12. 



O flower of beauty rare ! 
What blossom by thee growing, 
Can with thy grace of form compare, 
Or match thy deep tints glowing ? 
So royal are the colours thou dost wear. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 313 

Yet lowly from thy spray 
Thou droopest : — not in sadness ; 
Thy bright, rich colours are not gay, 
Yet are they hues of gladness ; 
Beseeming well the noon of summer day. 

There are — of beauty rare 
In holy calm up-growing, — 
Of minds, whose richness might compare 
E'en with thy deep tints glowing : 
Yet all unconscious of the grace they wear. 

Like flowers upon thy spray — 
All lowliness, — not sadness : 
Bright are their thoughts, and rich not gay — 
Grave in their very gladness : 
Shedding calm summer light over life's changeful 
day. 

And thus hath fancy strayed 
Sweet dreams alone to nourish ? 
Is not the Church's quiet shade 
A garden fair — where flourish 
Blossoms which only there unfold, and do not 
fade? 



314 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



Cf)ttteentf) Smitraj) after Crinttp. 

WHEN WE DEPART FROM HOME. 

George Wither. 

I know thy abode, and thy going out, and thy coming in.- 
2 Kings xix. 27 

Who knows, when he to go from home, 

Departeth from his door, 
Or when or how he back shall come, 

Or whether never more. 
For some who walk abroad in health, 

In sickness back are brought ; 
And some who have gone forth with wealth, 

Have back returned with nought. 

Lord, therefore now I go abroad, 

My guard I Thee confess ; 
And humbly beg of Thee, O God, 

My going forth to bless. 
Go with me whither I would go, 

Stay with me where I stay, 
Do for me what I ought to do, 

Speak Thou what I should say. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 315 

From taking wrong, from doing harm, 

From thoughts and speeches ill, 
From passion's rage, from pleasure's charm, 

Vouchsafe to keep me still. 
Let me abroad some blessing find, 

And let no curse the while 
Befall to that I leave behind, 

My honest hopes to spoil. 

But let my going out and in, 

My thoughts, my words, and ways, 
Be always safe, still free from sin, 

And ever to Thy praise. 
And when my pains effect shall take, 

Or times of stay are spent, 
With health and credit bring me back, 

With comfort and content. 



WHEN WE RETURN HOME. 

George Wither. 

Since, Lord, Thou hast well pleased been, 

As now it may appear, 
To bear me forth, to bring me in, 

And set me safely here. 
I who deserved not this grace, 

Should far less worthy be, 



316 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

If I repay not in this place 
The thanks I owe to Thee. 

My tongue therefore, O Lord, my King, 

Now soundeth out Thy praise ; 
My heart the self-same strain doth sing 

And thus to Thee it says : 
Thou art my God, and never shall 

Another God be mine ; 
And Kingdoms, Powers, and Glories all, 

For ever shall be Thine. 

dFouxtztntf) Suntrag after Crttutg. 
psalm xcm. 

Oxford Psalter. 

Fear ye not me ? saith the Lord : will ye not tremble at my 
presence, which have placed the sand for the bound of the sea by 
a perpetual decree, that it cannot pass it : and though the waves 
thereof toss themselves, yet can they not prevail ; though they 
roar, yet can they not pass over it ? — Jer. v. 22. 

God the Lord a King remaineth, 

Rob'd in His own glorious light, 
God hath robed Him, and He reigneth, 

He hath girded Him with might. — 
Hallelujah ? 

God is King in depth and height. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 317 

In her everlasting station 

Earth is poised, to swerve no more ; 
Thou hast laid Thy throne's foundation, 

From all time where thought can soar. 
Hallelujah ! 

Lord, Thou art for evermore. 

Lord, the water-floods have lifted, 

Ocean-floods have lift their roar, 
Now they pause where they have drifted, 

Now they burst upon the shore. 
Hallelujah ! 

For the Ocean's sounding store. 

With all tones of waters blending 

Glorious is the breaking deep, 
Glorious, beauteous without ending, 

God who reigns on Heaven's high steep. 
Hallelujah 1 

Songs of Ocean never sleep. 

Lord, the words Thy lips are telling 

Are the perfect verity ; 
Of Thine high eternal dwelling 
Holiness shall inmate be. 

Hallelujah ! 
Pure is all that lives with Thee. 
e e 3 



318 



DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 




^Fiftccnti) Suntrag after Cvinttn. 



Take therefore no thought for the morrow : for the morrow 
shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day 
is the evil thereof— St. Matt. vi. 34. 



Does each day upon its wing 
Its allotted burden bring ? 
Load it not beside with sorrow 
Which belongeth to the morrow. 
Strength is promised, strength is given 
When the heart, by God is riven ; 
But fore date the day of woe, 
And alone thou bear'st the blow. — 
One thing only claims thy care, 
Seek thou first by faith and prayer, 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 319 

That all glorious world above, 
Scene of righteousness and love ; 
And whate'er thou need'st below 
He thou trustest will bestow. 



PSALM LXXXIV. 

George Sandys. 

Seek ye first the kingdom of God and His righteousness.— St. 
Matt. vi. 33. 

O how amiable are 

Thy abodes, great God of war ! 

How I languish through restraint ! 

How my longing spirits faint ! 

Lord, for Thee I daily cry ; 

In Thy absence hourly die. 

Sparrows there their young ones rear ; 

And the Summer's harbinger 

By Thy altar builds her nest, 

Where they take their envied rest. 

O my King ! O Thou Most High ! 

Arbiter of Victory ! 

Happy men ! who spend their days 

In Thy courts ; there sing Thy praise ! 

Happy ! who on Thee depend ! 

Thine their way, and Thou their end. 



320 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Who through Baca travelling, 
Make that thirsty vale a spring ; 
Or soft showers from clouds distil, 
And their empty cisterns fill : 
Fresh in strength their course pursue 
Till they Thee in Sion view. 
Lord of Hosts, incline Thine ear, 
O Thou God of Jacob, hear ! 
Thou our Rock, extend Thy grace ; 
Look on Thy Anointed's face. 
One day in Thy courts alone 
Far exceeds a million. 
Let me be contemned and poor ; 
In Thy Temple keep a door ; 
Than with wicked men possess 
All that they call happiness. 
O Thou Shield of our defence ! 
O Thou Sun, whose influence 
Sweetly glides into our hearts ! 
Thou, Who all to Thine imparts ! 
Happy ! O thrice happy he, 
Who alone depends on Thee ! 




CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAK. 321 



ISbeof St, i»atti)eto. 



And a very great multitude spread their garments in the way, 
others cut down branches from the trees and strawed them in the 
way. And the multitudes that went before, and that followed 
cried, saying, Hosanna to the Son of David.— St. Matt. xxi. 8, 9. 

Saviour and Lord beloved ! — what homage now 
Shall Thy church give Thee in these latter days, 
When there is nothing new ? no song of praise 
That ages have not sung, — no worship due 
That hath not long been paid : — faithful and true 
Our hearts are beating to Thee. Can we raise 
No monument for victories of grace ? 
Must all our efforts be so poor and few ? 
O vain and earthly wish, that would be great 
In over serving ! — rather may we lie 
In meekest self-devotion at Thy feet, 
And watch the quiet hours as they pass by, 
Content and thankful for occasion shown 
To make old service and old faith our own. 



322 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



St. i*lattf)eto's Sag. 



THE DEAF AND DUMB. 

C. F. H. 

For God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, 
hath shined in our hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of 
the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ. — 2 Cor. iv. 6. 

Nor voice nor sound for me had power, 
I walked as in a sunlit night, 
The stillness of the midnight hour 
Was round me all the noonday bright. 

I saw the dark blue streamlet glide, 
The wild wind bow'd the forest trees ; 
I heard no murmur in the tide, 
No music in the rushing breeze. 

I saw bright eyes on bright eyes bent, 
The sparkling glance I knew full well ; 
But the lips moved and what they sent 
To other lips I could not tell. 






CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 323 

And like to water cold and lone, 
Hid down in some deep sunless cave — 
The current of my thoughts flowed on, 
No light was on the gloomy wave. 



I trod the dew bespangled sod, 
I looked into the broad blue sky ; 
I wist not of the good great God, 
I never dreamt of worlds on high. 



My soul is not untutored now, 
E'en words and tongues for me have might ; 
My thoughts have learnt a calmer flow, 
And the dark waters leap in light. 



They tell me hill and stream and tree, 
Can breathe to God no grateful lays, 
But all day long they seem to me, 
In loveliness to speak His praise. 



324 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

And I have learnt a dearer lore, 
Of blood-bought mercy freely won ; 
And my freed lip above shall pour 
The praise in silence here begun. 

Oh, happiest who running o'er 
With God's good gifts in mercy given, 
Turn from their own abundant store, 
To teach the dumb the songs of Heaven. 

And tenfold more unblest than mine 
His hopeless, heartless, thankless lot, 
Who hears on earth no voice divine, 
Whose lip can speak and praises not. 



Stxteentf) g?un&ag aftev ftrtmtg. 

Wordsworth. 

That ye being rooted and grounded in love may be able to com- 
prehend with all saints what is the breadth and length and depth 
and height ; and to know the love of Christ which passeth know- 
ledge, that ye might be filled with all the fulness of God. 

Ephes. iii. 17, 18, 19. 

O blest seclusion ! when the Mind admits 
The law of duty ; and can therefore move 
Through each vicissitude of loss and gain 
Linked in entire complacence with her choice ; 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 325 

When Youth's presumptuousness is mellowed down, 

And Manhood's vain anxiety dismissed : 

When Wisdom shows her seasonable fruit, 

Upon the boughs of sheltering leisure hung 

In sober plenty ; when the spirit stoops 

To drink with gratitude the crystal stream 

Of unreproved enjoyment ; and is pleased 

To muse, — and be saluted by the air 

Of meek repentance, wafting wall-flower scents 

From out the crumbling ruins of fallen Pride 

And chambers of Transgression, now forlorn. 

O, calm contented days and peaceful nights ! 

Who, when such good can be obtained, would strive 

To reconcile his Manhood to a couch 

Soft, as may seem, but, under that disguise, 

Stuffed with the thorny substance of the past, 

For fixed annoyance ; and full oft beset 

With floating dreams, disconsolate and black, 

The vapoury phantoms of futurity ? 

Within the soul a Faculty abides 
That with interpositions, which would hide 
And darken, so can deal, that they become 
Contingencies of pomp ; and serve to exalt 
Her native brightness. As the ample Moon, 
In the deep stillness of a Summer Even 
Rising behind a thick and lofty grove, 

Ff 



326 DAYS AND SEASONS, OH 

Burns like an unconsuming fire of light, 

In the green trees ; and kindles on all sides 

Their leafy umbrage, turns the dusky veil 

Into a substance glorious as her own, 

Yea, with her own incorporated, by power 

Capacious and serene ; like power abides 

In man's celestial spirit ; Virtue thus 

Sets forth and magnifies herself; thus feeds 

A calm, a beautiful, and silent fire, 

From the incumbrances of mortal life, 

From error, disappointment, — nay, from guilt ; 

And, sometimes so relenting Justice wills, 

From palpable oppressions of Despair. 



St. JHtcfjael antr all Ousels. 

FROM " ANGELS BEARING CROSSES." 

Rev. I. Williams. 

Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones ; for I say 
unto you, That in heaven their angels do always behold the face 
of my Father which is in heaven.— St. Matt, xviii. 10. 

" Amid things mightier far, both day and night, 
Thou movest," louder spake the angelic sound, 
" See the blind man, whom Nature shuts from light, 
He walks the earth unmoved, 'mid the profound 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 327 

Of multitudinous mountains, and the bound 
Of the great sea coasting unnumbered bays, 
And 'neath the cloud-hung blue o'erarching round, 
Where the pale Moon glides soft on pathless ways, 
Or Night's domain is lit with many-twinkling rays. 

" He walks unmoved ; — nor e'er his glowing thought 
One step in Nature's kingdom can advance, 
Her pictured scenes are ne'er within him wrought 
With rays that change the scene, and like the glance 
Upon the music-speaking countenance 
Break forth on Nature's face : in this thy cell 
Thus walk'st thou hedg'd around in earthly trance, 
Nor canst thou know the things invisible, 
Who with thee and around in light and darkness dwell. 

" Ye live within a temple rising round, 
Whose noiseless fabric all ethereal springs 
On Heaven's elastic pillars from the ground, 
Fill'd with bright Beings and with holy things ; 
Which more defies your faint imaginings, 
Than sculptur'd heights he cannot see or feel, 
Defy the blind man's feeble shadowings ; 
Ah, could one glance your earthly house reveal ! 
Ye stand alone unmov'd where countless Angels kneel. 



328 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

"When closest leagued by human charities, 
Affection her home-circle draws around, 
And Love would imitate the happier skies, 
Speaking in countenance and tuneful sound 
Of love-endearing voice, new ever found 
In friend or children sweet ; in deeper love 
The friends that are unseen with you abound, 
On golden embassies sent from above, 
In harmonies of Heaven they all around you move, — 

" But mostly in your fancied solitude, 
And poverty and grief; for things of men, 
And all that doth allure to sensual good, 
Thicken the scale that dims the visual ken ; — 
Therefore the lonely ruin, tower, and glen, 
Ye people with warrior societies, 
Truth on your spirits breaks, and therefore then 
Ye feel them nearer, as to longing eyes 
Music brings back the world that deep in memory lies. 

" Therefore we nearer draw in curtain'd sleep, 

For then ye are remov'd from outer sight, 

And are brought nearer Heaven, and worlds more 

deep 
Than waking thought divines. When the dark night 
Surrounds you, or when gloomy woes alight 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 329 

Upon your path, oft in that cloud we move. 
Yea, oft when ills your sinking souls affright, — 
They are but visitings of Heavenly love, — 
The moon and stars appear when Darkness round 
doth rove. 

" That thou mayst pray for them thy foes are given, 
That thou mayst look to God I bring thee pain, 
I bring thee cares that thou mayst look to Heaven, 
I bring thee fretful friends that thou mayst train 
Thy soul to patience ; what thou deemest gain, 
When closest wreathing chains around thy soul, 
I rend from thine own bleeding heart in twain, 
That He who bought may have thy spirit whole : — 
Spurs that may give thee pain, but urge thee to the 
goal." 

Then he disclos'd, as in a vision wild, 
A road to Heaven, where unto each was given 
To bear his cross by love of Christ beguil'd — 
Angels that carried them 'mid clouds of even — 
And Love that weigh'd the cross of each in Heaven — 
And they that parted from that holy load 
Into self-chosen paths by Passion driven, 
Laden more heavily on the false road, 
Stay'd amid tangled paths and miss'd their last 
abode. 

Ff3 



330 



DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 




AUTUMN. 

THE MESSENGER OF LIGHT. 

(From the German.) S. D. 

Knowing the time, that now it is high time to awake out of sleep. 

Rom. xiii. 11. 

Was it the brazen horn I heard but now, 
The call that arms the warrior for the fight ? 
Or did the breath from angel-trumpet blow, 
The herald sound that breaks the dark grave's might? 
O no ! 'twas but the earliest cock did crow, 
And burst the golden bands of slumbers light. 
As to the fight — as from the dead to rise — 
So the day calls me forth, whose night hid from me 
lies. 



Thou messenger of light, whose startling cry, 
Woke him to dread who did his Lord disown, 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 331 

So dost thou still uplift thy warning high, 
When round the soul a slumbrous spell is thrown : 
Spirits, in self-forgetfulness that lfe, 
Wakening from visions vain true life to own, — 
To feel with fear, that dawning morn shall rise 
When to eternal light shall ope the closed eyes. 

" Let go the enchanted cup thou dost desire, 

1 ' The cup with dark dews filled, sleep bringing charm. 

" And forth ! with armour girt, and high aspire, 

" Thine armour strength not thine, to shield from 

harm. 
" Ready as each day's conflict shall require ; 
" So shall each day bring victory to thine arm." 
Forth will I then ! — God's soldier — to the fight ! 
So shall the dark and heavy-clouded day grow bright. 

AN EVENING HYMN. 

George Wither. 

The Lord is my light, and my salvation, whom then shall I 
fear : the Lord is the strength of my life, of whom then shall I be 
afraid.— Psalm xxvii. 1. 

Now the cheerful day is past, 
And the beauties of the light 

Are with shadows overcast 
By the mantle of the night : 



332 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Thanks to Thee, O Lord, I pay 
For the blessings of this day ; 
Asking grace for every sin 
Whereby err'd I have therein. 

Though the Sun hath left us now 

And withholds his light from me ; 
Lord, from hence depart not Thou, 
Nor in darkness let me be. 
But the rays of grace divine 
Cause Thou round me still to shine ; 
And with mercy overspread 
Both my person, and my bed. 

Chase all wicked fiends from hence 

That they do me no despite, 
By deluding of the sense 

Through the darkness of the night. 
But, O Lord, from all my foes 
Let Thine angels me enclose ; 
And protect me in my sleep 
When myself I cannot keep. 

Whilst my body taketh rest, 
Let my soul attend on Thee, 

Let no dream to her suggest 
Fancies that unchaste may be. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 333 

Whether I shall wake or sleep, 
Me in mind and body keep ; 
Not from acts of sin alone, 
But from dreaming they are done. 

And since death and sleep are said 

Some resemblances to have, 
In my bed ere I am laid 

So prepare me for my grave, 
That with comfort wake I may, 
To enjoy the following day, 
Or if death close up mine eyes, 
Rest in hope, till all shall rise. 



SebenteentI) SunfcaD after Crtnttn. 

George Herbert. 

Walk worthy of the vocation wherewith ye are called. 

Ephes. iv. 1. 

Pitch thy behaviour low ; thy projects, high ; 

So shalt thou humble and magnanimous be. 

Sink not in spirit : who aimeth at the sky, 

Shoots higher much, than he that means a tree. 
A grain of glory mix'd with humbleness 
Cures both a fever, and lethargicness. 



334 



DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 



Let thy mind still be bent, still plotting, where, 
And when, and how, the business may be done. 
Slackness breeds worms : but the sure traveller, 
Though he alight sometimes, still goeth on. 

Active and stirring spirits live, alone. 

Write on the others, Here lies such a one. 

Slight not the smallest loss ; whether it be 
In love, or honour. Take account of all. 
Shine like the sun in every corner. See 
Whether thy stock of credit swell, or fall. 

Who say, * I care not,' those I give for lost ; 

And to instruct them will not quit the cost. 

Scorn no man's love, though of a mean degree. 

Love is a present for a mighty king. 

Much less make any one thine enemy ; 

As guns destroy so may a little sling. 
The cunning workman never doth refuse 
The meanest tool that he may chance to use. 




CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 335 



iZtgijtcenti) S-untran after Cvtnttjj. 

JC 

Waiting for the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.— 1 Cor. i. 7. 

But we must needs depart, our rest is not 

Amidst the crystal streams and flowery dells. 

Within the soul of man a spirit dwells 

Of that Home mindful where it was begot, 

And whereto it aspires, howe'er its lot 

Be fall'n among the goodly things of earth. 

What matter then where our domestic hearth 

Be laid — what fields we claim — what treasured spot 

Our lordship recognise ? — Too soon decay 

O'er all will pass, and in our nakedness 

E'en as we hither came we must away. 

O " timely wise" are they who onward press, 

Loving their own dear place, but ready ever 

All to forsake when Death their loves shall sever. 



Yes, there are times when earth can stay no more, 
And when the soul mounts upward, as if grief 
With sin and toil had for a season brief 
Relaxed their hold, and left us free to soar. 



336 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Is it a stream of health that wanders o'er 
The parched frame, so that the soul partakes 
Of that sweet natural influence, and slakes 
Her thirst therein ? can health renewed restore 
The soul's departed greenness ? or indeed 
Is it a touch from Heaven, that we may feel 
What joys there are on high, above all weal 
Or woe to this poor life confined ? — Thy meed 
Of praise, my heart, learn henceforth to bestow, 
Whether from Grace or Nature thine enjoyment flow. 



Nineteenth Sunliag after Ctinttg. 



TOWN AND COUNTRY. 

S. R. 

Jesus entered into a ship, and passed over, and came into His 
own city. — St. Matt. ix. 1. 

They fable well, but fable still 
Who court for aye the secret rill, 
The placid vale, the lonely bower, 
The old thought-sobering village Tower, 
The country face unworn by care, — 
And say that peace alone is there. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 337 

The Bee that sips the morning dew 
Loves well the hum of noontide too ; 
The pensive Bird that all night long 
Has soothed the woodland with her song, 
Mislikes not busier scenes by day, 
But cheers unseen the public way. 
Thus sooth to speak, the well-tuned mind 
Dwells with delight on human kind, 
And once with glimpse of duty caught 
Leaves dearest trains of holy thought 
To plunge in City, Camp or Main, — 
Glad sharer she of toil or pain, 
And sure where'er the occasion lies, 
To meet or make sweet sympathies. 
Rare spirit this, of simple mien 
Well formed to cheer life's every scene, 
And like some little sheltered lake 
Reflecting every picture back 
Of spire or wood, of turf or stone 
With added softness of its own. 

Such Spirit once, but once we know 
In full perfection walked below : 
The Son of God would oft repair 
To fields and groves for thought and prayer ; 
Yet soon along the crowded street 
Again He passed, with duteous feet 



338 



DAYS AND SEASONS, OK 



Still bent His Father's work to do, 

Alike with many or with few. 

Walk w r e like Him in our degree 

In public and in privacy ; 

When God's fair works our heart have cheerM 

O be that cheerfulness transferr'd, 

Bear we to those our happy lot 

Who in its freshness have it not, 

Diffusing through each heart and place 

Far better things than Nature's grace, 

And showing every home is dear, 

If self be absent, Jesus near. 




CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAK. 339 

St. 2lufee's JBai). 

THE MAIDEN PINK. (DIANTHUS DELTOIDES.) 

M. H. 

For I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure 
is at hand. I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, 
I have kept the faith.— 2 Tim. iv. 6, 7. 

Who would dwell on Autumn's sadness ? — 

Tho' the forest leaves be sere, 
Tho' the sun throws less of gladness 

O'er the waning, parting year, 
Than was shed o'er Spring's young hours, 
Autumn hath bright gleams, sweet flowers. 

Glorious sunsets richly glowing 

Strike the Autumn wanderer's eye, 

Whence the holy thought comes flowing — 
" Brightly thus may Christians die ; 

Bright may be th' example given, 

Glowing with the hues of Heav'n." 

But too oft the heart recoiling 

From such high and lofty thought, 

Conscious that it still is toiling 

'Neath the yoke of sin, is brought 

To the question, " Can there be 

Such bright hope reserv'd for me ?" 



340 PAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Momentary desolation 

O'er the spirit seems to fleet, 
Till with cheerful consolation 

Thy sweet fragrancy we greet, 
Tiny dweller of the sod, 
Maiden-Pink, the Flower-of-God ! 

Trustingly thy form ariseth 

From thy low and grassy bed, 

And the heart the lesson prizeth 
On thy modest petals read ; 

Cheeringly thou seem'st to say 

" Do thy best tho' late thy day 1" 

'* Late my day, the year is waning 
Ere my blossoms I unfold, 

Few the hours for me remaining, 
Quickly cometh winters cold ; 

Lately I began to live, 

Great the fragrancy I give." 

" Christian, thy sins confessing, 
Mourn not idly o'er delay, 

Seize the present moment's blessing, 
Seize and use ere life decay ; 

I, a late and lonely flow'r, 

Say improve life's latest hour." 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 341 

1 ' Ask not that yon type of glory 

May prefigure thy decline, 
But resemblance to thy story 

Meekly, gladly trace in mine ; 
Learned late, then higher raise 
Hymns of gratitude and praise." 



Ctoentiett) iJuittiaD after gTrinttg. 



A SONG OF PRAISE FOR DELIVERANCE FROM 
IMMINENT DANGER OF DEATH. 

Mason. 

Giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father. 

Ephes. v. 20. 

Lord of my life, length of my days, 

Thy hand hath rescued me ; 
Who lying at the gates of death 

Among the dead was free. 
My dearest friends I had resigned 

Unto their Maker's care : 
Methought I only time had left 

For a concluding Prayer. 

G ff3 



342 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Methought death laid his hands on me, 

And did his prisoner bind ; 
And by the sound, methought I heard 

His Master's feet behind. 
Methought I stood upon the shore, 

And nothing could I see, 
But the vast ocean, with my eyes, 

A vast eternity. 

Methought I heard the midnight cry, 

Behold the Bridegroom comes : 
Methought I was calPd to the bar, 

Where souls receive their dooms. 
The world was at end to me 

As if it all did burn : 
But lo ! there came a voice from Heaven 

Which ordered my return. 

Lord, I returned at Thy command, 

What wilt Thou have me do ? 
O let me wholly live to Thee 

To whom my life I owe ! 
Fain would I dedicate to Thee 

The remnant of my days. 
Lord, with my life renew my heart 

That both Thy name may praise. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 343 



£be of St. Simon antr St. 3futre. 



THE PERIWINKLE. 

S. R. 

They that sow in tears, shall reap in joy. — Psalm cxxvi. 6. 

Thou freshest garland of the year, 
Thy bright green leaf is never sere ; 
Blow wind, blow storm, whatever may ; 
Thy constant mien is sweetly gay, 
Smiles on through cold, hot, dry, or wet, 
Gay, bright, fresh, green, and constant yet. 
I love to see thee in the spring, 
Thy joyous buds just opening, 
While each erect aspiring stem 
Clusters with stars thy diadem, 
Till far and wide, by day and night, 
Thy deep bed glows with purple light. 
Yet better still I love to view 
Those dear flowers dipt in autumn dew ; 
When low on earth their heads are seen, 
Reposing soft in evergreen ; 



344 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

When tender shoots too weak to rise 

No longer lift them to the skies, 

And day by day themselves are laid 

Beneath a deeper colder shade : — 

Yet is their light not quenched so, 

Nor sinks in gloom their vernal show, 

But brightens still the darkling hours, 

With drooping wreaths, and trailing flowers. 

Oh, this is joy indeed to see, 

Emblem of genuine piety ! 

No slave of sunshine vernal days, 

An inward lamp she still can raise, 

That puts the soul beyond the power 

Of things that change with every hour, — 

And let them come or let them part, — 

Glad, light and steadfast keeps the heart. 




CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 345 




St. Simon antr £t, Sftrtie. ( 



HYMN TO THE MEEK. 

Mr. Aubrey de Fere. 



Whosoever exalteth himself shall be abased ; and he that hum- 
bleth himself shall be exalted.— St. Luke xiv. 11. 



All hail ! the haughty from their towers look down 

on you with scorn — 
On you scarce seen — like meadow flowers grass-hid, 

that perfume morn ! 
Unmarked the while, for them ye pray : 
Earth's salt, that keeps her from decay. 



346 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

And while the haughty near yon pile 
Their Babel-Towers of sun-burned clay 

On yielding sand, volcanic isle, 
A brief and perilous stay : 

Ye dwell in tents, removed at will : 

They fall, yet safe their inmates still ! 

Oh ! what a load of selfish fear 
By you will ne'er be known ! 

Yourselves ye love not but revere 
As beings not your own ; 

As temples which to God belong : 

By Him secured from harm and wrong. 

What man shall reign — no matter who ! 

Alas ! we rave and fret, 
We press, we struggle, we pursue, 

For what ? for Power — and yet 
On us submissive Angels wait 
Pleased with their mild Diaconate. 

All earth is yours : her mild increase ; 

Her lore through types laid bare ; 
Her generous toils ; her grateful ease : 

Her duties ; and whatever 
To nature, with a natural art, 
Freedom and heavenly peace impart. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 347 

Nature to docile hearts, and minds 

That sympathise with her, 
In sunny calms, or dreariest winds, 

Alike doth minister : 
Dark days her fasts the fancy calls 
And bright her moving festivals. 

To you the costliest spoils of Thought 

Wisdom unclaimed yields up : 
To you her far sought pearl is brought, 

And melted in your cup. 
To you her nard and myrrh she brings, 
Like orient gifts to infant kings. 

The ' single eye,' alone can see 

All truths around us thrown, 
In their eternal unity : 

The humble ear alone 
Has room to hold, and time to prize 
The sweetness of life's harmonies. 

Notions to thought made visible, 

Are but the smallest part 
Of those immortal Truths, which dwell 

Self-radiant in man's heart ! 
With outward beams are others bright 
But God has made you full of light. 



348 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

One science well ye know The Will 

Of God to man laid bare : 
One art have mastered — to fulfil 

The part assigned you there : 
If other, meaner lore ye sought, 
This part yet learned — to need it not ! 

Empiric Laws, that hide the grace 

Of human life, as hard 
As iron mask upon a face 

From answering eyes debarred, 
Form but a lucid veil to you 
With all the Godhead shining through. 

Yes, Angels prompt us, Spirits fence 1 

But ye, a Father's Hand 
Who trace through all His Providence, 

Discern that Angel-band, 
'Tis yours alone to mark their blending 
On tasks of love for aye descending. 

One half of all our cares and woes 

Exist but in our thought : 
And lightly fall the rest on those 

With them who wrestle not, 
The feather scarcely feels the gale 
Which bursts the seaman's strongest sail. 



CHUUCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 349 



Ctoentn^fitst ijunfcan after £rtnttn. 

Wordsworth. 

Be strong in the Lord and in the power of His might. 

Ephes, vi. 10. 

Here then we rest : not fearing for our creed 
The worst that human reasoning can achieve, 
To unsettle or perplex it : yet with pain 
Acknowledging, and grievous self-reproach, 
That, though immovably convinced, we want 
Zeal, and the virtue to exist by faith 
As Soldiers live by courage ; as, by strength 
Of heart, the Sailor fights with roaring seas. 
Alas ! the endowment of immortal Power 
, Is matched unequally with custom, time, 
And domineering faculties of sense 
In all ; in most with superadded foes, 
Idle temptations — open vanities, 
Ephemeral offspring of the unblushing world ; 
And, in the private regions of the mind 
Ill-governed passions, ranklings of despite, 
Immoderate wishes, pining discontent, 
Distress and care. What then remains ? — To seek 
Those helps, for his occasions ever near, 
Who lacks not will to use them ; vows, renewed 

Hh 



350 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

On the first motion of a holy thought ; 

Vigils of contemplation ; praise ; and prayer, 

A stream, which from the fountain of the heart, 

Issuing, however feebly, nowhere flows 

Without access of unexpected strength. 

But, above all, the victory is most sure 

For him, who, seeking faith by virtue, strives 

To yield entire submission to the law 

Of Conscience ; Conscience reverenced and obeyed, 

As God's most intimate Presence in the soul, 

And His most perfect Image in the world. 

— Endeavour thus to live ; these rules regard ; 

These helps solicit ; and a steadfast seat 

Shall then be yours among the happy few 

Who dwell on earth, yet breathe empyreal air, 

Sons of the morning. For your nobler Part, 

Ere disencumbered of her mortal chains 

Doubt shall be quelled and trouble chased away ; 

With only such degree of sadness left 

As may support longings of pure desire ; 

And strengthen love, rejoicing secretly 

In the sublime attractions of the Grave. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE VEAR. 351 



iSbe of mi Saints. 



SONNET, 

Drummond. 

All flesh waxeth old as a garment, for the covenant from the 
beginning is thou shalt die the death. — Ecclus. xiv. 17. 

Let us each day inure ourselves to die, 

If this, and not our fears, be truly death, 

Above the circles both of hope and faith 

With fair immortal pinions to fly ; 

If this be death, our best part to untie, 

(By ruining the jail,) from lust and wrath, 

And every drowsy languor here beneath, 

To be made denizM citizen of sky ; 

To have more knowledge than all books contain, 

All pleasures even surmounting wishing power, 

The fellowship of God's immortal train, 

And these that time nor force shall e'er devour : 

If this be death, what joy, what golden care 

Of life's, can with death's ugliness compare ? 



352 



DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 




gti £amt#' Sag. 



HYMNS FOR ALL SAINTS* DAY. 

Hickes' Devotions. 

But the righteous live for evermore, their reward also is with 
the Lord, and the care of them is with the Most High. Therefore 
shall they receive a glorious kingdom, and a beautiful crown from 
the Lord's hand.— Wis. v. 15, 16. 



Wake, all my hopes, lift up your eyes 
And crown your heads with mirth : 

See how they shine beyond the skies, 
Who once dwelt on our earth. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 353 

Peace, busy thoughts ; away, vain cares, 

That cloy us here below : 
Let us go up above the spheres, 

And to each order bow. 

Hail, glorious Angels, heirs of light, 

The high born sons of fire ; 
Whose heats burn chaste, whose flames shine bright, 

All joy, yet all desire. 

Hail, holy Saints, who long in hope, 

Long in the shadow sate ; 
Till our victorious Lord set ope 

Heaven's everlasting gate. 

Hail, great Apostles of the Lamb, 

Who brought that early ray, 
Which from our Sun reflected came, 

And made our first fair day. 

Hail, generous Martyrs, whose strong hearts 

Bravely rejoiced to prove, 
How weak, pale Death, are all thy darts 

Compared to those of Love. 
Hh3 



354 DAVS AND SEASONS, OR 

Hail, blessed Confessors, who died 

A death too, love did give ; 
While your own flesh you crucified, 

To make your Spirit live. 

Hail, beauteous Virgins, whose chaste love 

Renounced all fond desires ; 
Who wisely fixed your hearts above ; 

And burnt with heavenly fires. 

Hail, all you happy Spirits above, 
Who make that glorious ring, 

About the sparkling throne of Love, 
And there for ever sing. 

Hail, and among your crowns of praise, 

Present this little wreath, 
Which, while your lofty notes you raise, 

We humbly sing beneath. 

All glory to the sacred Three, 

One everliving Lord, 
As at the first still may He be 

BelovM, obey'd, adored. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 355 



TELL ME, YOU BRIGHT STARS THAT SHINE. 

Hickes' Devotions. 

Tell me, you bright Stars that shine 
Round about the Lamb's high throne ; 
How, through bodies once like mine, 
How are you thus glorious grown ? 

Hark ! with one voice they reply ; 
This was all our happy skill ; 
We on Jesus fixed our eye, 
And His eminent followers' still. 

As we clearly saw their mind 

Set and ruled, we ordered ours : 

Both this state alone designed, 

Up towards this strained all our powers. 

Taught by Temperance we abstained 
From all less — for greater goods : 
Slighting little drops, we gained 
Full, and sweet, and lasting floods. 



356 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Arm'd with Fortitude, we bare 
Lesser evils, worse to fly : 
Mortal death we durst out-dare, 
Rather than for ever die. 

Justice we observed, by giving 
Every one their utmost due : 
That in peace and order living, 
All might freely heaven pursue. 

Prudence governed all the rest ; 
Prudence made us still apply 
What was fittest, what was best, 
To advance great Charity. 

On these golden wheels of grace, 
That Love's fiery chariot bear, 
We arrived at this blest place : 
Follow us and never fear. 




CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 357 



Ctoentn-secontr Suntoag after STttnttn. 

THOUGHTS IN SICKNESS. 

Lord John Manners. 

My son, despise not the chastening of the Lord; neither be 
weary of his correction : for whom the Lord loveth he correcteth ; 
even as a father the son in whom he delighteth. — Prov. iii. 11, 12. 

I know not how it is, but man ne'er sees 

The glory of this world, its streams, and trees, 

Its thousand forms of beauty that delight 

The soul, the sense, and captivate the sight 

So long as laughing health vouchsafes to stay, 

And charm the traveller on his joyous way. 

No ! man can ne'er appreciate this earth, 

Which he has lived and joyed in from his birth, 

Till pain or sickness from his sight removes 

All that in health he valued not, yet loves. 

Then, then it is he learns to feel the ties 

Of earth and all its sweetest sympathies ; 

Then he begins to know how fair, how sweet, 

Were all those flowers that bloomed beneath his 

feet : 
Then he confesses that before in vain, 
The wild flowers flourished in the lonely plain : 



358 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

Then he remembers that the lark would sing, 
Making the heavens with her music ring, 
And he ungrateful never cared to hear 
Those tuneful orisons at daybreak clear ; 
While all the glories that enrich this earth, 
Crowd on the brain, and magnify its worth 
Till truant fancy quits the couch of pain, 
To rove in health's gay fields and woods again ! 
But when some pang his wandering sense recalls, 
And chains the sufferer to his prison walls, 
What to his anguish adds a sharper sting, 
And plumes the feathers on affliction's wing ? 
W r hat but the thought that in his hour of health, 
He slighted these, for glory, power, or wealth. 
And, oh ! how trivial when compared to these, 
Seem all those pleasures which are said to please ! 
At morn, when through the open lattice float 
The hymns of praise from many a warbler's throat, 
The sick man turns with pained and feverish start, 
And groans in abject bitterness of heart. 
Whence, say, ye vain ones, whence that soul-drawn 

groan ? 
Came it from anguish, or from pain alone ? 
Think ye, reflection was not busy there, 
Borne on the sunbeam wafted by the air, 
That speaks upbraiding, though its balmy voice 
Whispers bright hopes, and bids his soul rejoice ! 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 359 

So feel I now, and should gay health once more 
Glow in my frame, as it has glowed of yore, 
Oh ! may I prove my thankfulness, and show 
I feel the glory of all things below ! 



THE LAST DAYS OF AUTUMN. 

Sir Walter Scott. 
The harvest is past, the summer is ended. — Jer. viii. 20. 

Autumn departs — but still his mantle's fold 

Rests on the groves of noble Somerville, 
Beneath a shroud of russet dropp'd with gold, 

Tweed and his tributaries mingle still ; 
Hoarser the wind, and deeper sounds the rill, 

Yet lingering notes of sylvan music swell, 
The deep-toned cushat, and the redbreast shrill ; 

And yet some tints of summer splendour tell 
When the broad sun sinks down on Ettrick's western 
fell. 

Autumn departs — from Gala's fields no more 
Come rural sounds our kindred banks to cheer ; 

Blent with the stream, and gale that wafts it o'er, 
No more the distant reaper's mirth we hear. 

The last blithe shout hath died upon our ear, 



360 DAYS AND SEASONS, Oil 

And harvest home hath hush'd the clanging wain, 
On the waste hill no forms of life appear, 

Save where sad laggard of the autumnal train, 
Some age-struck wanderer gleans few ears of scat- 
tered grain. 

Deem'st thou these sadden'd scenes have pleasure 
still, 
Lovest thou through Autumn's fading realms to 
stray, 
To see the heath-flower wither'd on the hill, 

To listen to the wood's expiring lay, 
To note the red leaf shivering on the spray, 

To mark the last bright tints the mountain stain, 
On the waste fields to trace the gleaner's way, 
And moralize on mortal joy and pain ? — 
Oh ! if such scenes thou lov'st, scorn not the minstrel 
strain ! 

A SONG OF MOURNING. 

(From the German.) S. D. 

We have borne the image of the earthy.— 1 Cor. xv. 49. 

Thus did the field-Flower speak— -O drops of heaven ! 
Once welcomed as the gently falling dew, 
When in the sweet spring night so gently given 
Your wakening touch I knew — 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 361 

Promise of ceaseless care ; — why thus should fail 
Your sweet caressings, changed all to hate ? 
Why, as the frosty rime of autumn late, 
Fall these cold drops, and turn my cheek so pale ? 
Why call me forth to live, 

With thine awakening breath, 
If but at length to give 
The bitter gift of death. 

The Leaf spake on the tree — O wind of heaven ! 

Once, as enfolded in the bud I lay, 

With softest touch thy gentle call was given — 

" Arise — behold, 'tis day I" 
Why comest thou so changed ? thou, once so mild, 
Like to the whirlwind rushest o'er me now, 
And, as thou passest, with a deadly blow 
Dost strike with icy wing thy cherished child. 

Why call me forth to live, 
With thine awakening breath, 

If but at length to give 
The bitter gift of death ? 

Thus spake a Heart — O Love ! thou light of heaven ! 
Thou earnest when in childhood I was blest ; 
With whispers soft and sweet the touch was given, 
That called me from my rest. 
i i 



362 DATS AND SEASONS, OK 

Bright light of song thou didst around me weave, 
And fearless all, I took thee for my guide. 
Why hast thou then the blissful dream destroyed, 
To break my life ? — O why so soon deceive ? 
Why call me forth to live, 

With thine awakening breath, 
If but at length to give 
The bitter gift of death ? 

Then let our wrongs our voice united prove — 
The Leaf — the Heart of man — the Flower of Spring : 
O dew! O wind ! O heavenly light of love ! 

Why thus so sweetly fling 
Around us bands which seem as they would rest 
For ever strong, — then cast us from your care ? 
One thing alone is true ; — thy bosom fair, 
O Earth, our Mother ! — take us to thy breast ! 

Then calling us to live, 

Shall speak no wakening breath, 

Only at length to give 
The bitter gift of death. 

Then spake the Mother-Earth, and thus she said : 
Hush, O complainers ! why so sadly grieve ? 
Be still, nor thus those heavenly powers upbraid, 

Though ye awhile they leave ; 
But I await your coming to my rest. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 363 

Think how with them, full many a blissful day, 
Ye once were wont so mirthfully to play : 
And once again with them ye shall be blest. 
Then joy ! again to live, 

Shall call their wakening breath. 
Rest but awhile : they give 
No bitter gift in death ! 



DEPARTURE OF BIRDS BEFORE WINTER. 
Rev. I. Williams. 

A patient man -will bear for a time, and afterwards joy shall 
spring up unto him. — Ecclus. i. 23. 

Ye feather'd pilgrims, when the year grows old, 
Who on the dim horizon darkly flock, 
While pillar'd clouds like smoke the vision mock, 
Or range along the pented roof, 
In companies so stiff and cold, 
In flying troops now wheel aloof, 
Now huddle 'neath the frosty eaves, 
As if in you the spirit grieves 
To see the Autumn's waning leaves ; 
And yet, preparing to depart to-morrow, 
Seem reconcil'd to this day's sorrow ; 
Pictures ye seem of suffering, 



364 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

As if our climate did you wrong, 
Yet suffering still in hope, are fresh and strong, 
With buoyant wing and twittering song ; 
Give to my heart your song and wing, 
And I with you will fly and sing. 



Ctoentg=tfjtrtr Suntrag after Crinitg. 

Wordsworth, 
For our conversation is in Heaven. — Phil. iii. 20. 

'Tis, by comparison, an easy task 
Earth to despise ; but, to converse with Heaven — 
This is not easy : — to relinquish all 
We have, or hope, of happiness and joy, 
And stand in freedom loosened from this world, 
I deem not arduous : — but must needs confess 
That 'tis a thing impossible to frame 
Conceptions equal to the Soul's desires ; 
And the most difficult of tasks to keep 
Heights which the soul is competent to gain. 
— Man is of dust : ethereal hopes are his, 
Which, when they should sustain themselves aloft, 
Want due consistence ; like a pillar of smoke, 
That with majestic energy from earth 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 365 

Rises ; but, having reached the thinner air, 
Melts, and dissolves, and is no longer seen. 
From this infirmity of mortal kind 
Sorrow proceeds, where else were not ; — at least, 
If Grief be something hallowed and ordained, 
If, in proportion, it be just and meet, 
Through this, 'tis able to maintain its hold, 
In that excess which Conscience disapproves. 
For who could sink and settle to that point 
Of selfishness ; so senseless who could be 
As long and perseveringly to mourn 
For any object of his love, removed 
From this unstable world, if he could fix 
A satisfying view upon that state 
Of pure, imperishable blessedness, 
Which Reason promises, and Holy Writ 
Ensures to all Believers ? — yet mistrust 
Is of such incapacity methinks 
No natural branch ; despondency far less, 
— And, if there be whose tender frames have drooped 
Even to the dust ; apparently, through weight 
Of anguish unrelieved, and lack of power 
An agonizing sorrow to transmute, 
Infer not hence a hope from those withheld 
When wanted most ; a confidence impaired 
So pitiably, that, having ceased to see 
i i 3 



366 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

With bodily eyes, they are borne down by love 

Of what is lost, and perish through regret. 

Oh ! no, full oft the innocent Sufferer sees 

Too clearly ; feels too vividly ; and longs 

To realise the Vision, with intense 

And over constant yearning — there — there lies 

The excess, by which the balance is destroyed. 

Too, too contracted are these walls of flesh, 

This vital warmth too cold, these visual orbs, 

Though inconceivably endowed, too dim 

For any passion of the soul that leads 

To ecstacy ; and, all the crooked paths 

Of time and change disdaining, takes its course 

Along the line of limitless desires. 

I, speaking now from such disorder free, 

Nor rapt, nor craving, but in settled peace, 

I cannot doubt that They whom you deplore 

Are glorified ; or if They sleep, shall wake 

From sleep, and dwell with God in endless love. 

Hope, below this, consists not with belief 

In mercy, carried infinite degrees 

Beyond the tenderness of human hearts : 

Hope, below this, consists not with belief 

In perfect Wisdom, guiding mightiest Power, 

That finds no limits but her own pure Will. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 367 



Etoentg=fourtf) Suntiag after Crimtn. 

H. 



The wisdom of the prudent is to understand his way. 
Prov. xiv. 8. 



Easy in anguish keen to keep 

The narrow way, 
We feel our sin our peril deep, 

We watch and pray ! 

Nor hard when swells in rapture high 

Th' overflowing heart, 
A thankful joy smooths readily 

The roughest part ! 

But who — unroused by passion — can 

His straight course lead, 
Still constant though at ease — that man 

Is blest indeed 1 




368 J)AYS AND SEASONS, OR 



FORWARD! 

7- 

The hope which is laid up for you in Heaven.— Col. i. 5. 

The traveller, when his time is short, 
Speeds careless of the rugged way, 

He loiters not for village sport, 
He lingers not for landscape gay. 

The birds his woodland path beside 

Riot in wildest bliss of song, 
The moonlight streams so sweetly glide — 

He dares not look or linger long. 

The christian knows his time is short, 
But, ah ! the way is rough and drear, 

And bowers of bliss are nigh, to court 
His spirit from its high career. 

Let him not swerve, for storms and night 
The erring soul have oft opprest, 

But who rides on, is sure of light 
To guide him to his promised rest. 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 369 



Ctoentp=fiftf) §tmfcas after ifrinttg. 

Rev. I. Williams. 
The Lord our righteousness. — Jer. xxiii. 6. 

I wake as Adam from the formless dust 

And ask why am I born ? Thou bidst me rise, 

And standing by my side demand my trust, 

Placed in Thy Church Thy better Paradise, 

And to my longings point out happy skies, 

Telling me all things here that please the sight 

Are but the semblance given to feeble eyes, 

Shadows of heavenly rest and pure delight, 

And fast they fade away, to warn us by their flight. 

All that is fair when summer days decline, 
All things without speak of Thine inner reign ; 
The gate of Eve, the youthful face divine, 
The starry night, the Moons that fill and wane, 
Like Thine own Church that wanes and fills again ; 
The stars like Abraham's seed set round in Heaven, 
The birds like Angels in their blue domain, 
And prowling beasts before the twilight driven, 
Which tell of spirits bad that love the gloom of Even : 



370 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

All things speak of Thee, — every sun that shines 

Sets forth Thine image, and each day's return 

Is herald of the morn that ne'er declines : — 

The bright recovering year, at every turn 

Speaks of that great New Year, where all things burn 

In glorious beauty round the source of Light ; 

All are Thy teachers, — grant us to discern 

Their Heavenly lessons, — cleanse our mortal sight, 

We have enough to preach, did we but hear aright. 

Show me the way that leadeth unto Thee, 

Though it be difficult Thou art all might, 

Though low, Thou art of love a boundless sea, 

Though dark, Thou art Thyself a living Light 

Though toilsome, Thou art goodness infinite, 

And wilt refresh the heavy-laden soul 

That comes to Thee ;— guide me to Thee aright, 

I cannot come unless Thou dost control ; 

Lord, Thou enlighten, draw, and fill my being whole. 

May I be lost in Thy great Majesty, 
Myself no more, to have no cherish'd thing, 
No choice, no hope, no sorrow, but in Thee, 
My Shepherd, and my Father, and my King : 
Nothing is good but what in Thee doth spring ; 



CHURCH POETRY FOR THE YEAR. 371 

Nothing is good but what in Thee doth end ; 
O let me hear Thy voice, let all things bring 
Thy voice to me ; whatever Thou dost send, 
Shall be my welcome guest, shall be my honour'd 
friend. 

Whate'er I have is Thine ; my hour of death, 
And all the days of life are in Thine hand, 
My endless portion hangs upon Thy breath, 
My hairs by Thee are numbered, and the sand 
That forms beneath my feet the eternal strand : 
Whate'er I know, whate'er I have is Thine, 
Save sins, which hold me like a living band, 
Which Thou alone canst make not to be mine ; — 
Number may count my sins but not Thy loves divine. 



THE SACRED YEAR. 

I see that all things come to an end : but Thy commandment 
is exceeding broad.— Ps. cxix. 96. 

A few short years make up our pilgrimage ; 

A few short weeks make up the circling year ; 

Each week doth bear a heavenly embassage ; 

With silent steps, as on a crystal stair, 

It comes and goes to Heaven, with such sweet care 



372 DAYS AND SEASONS, OR 

The Church clothes o'er each week with azure wings, 
Which else were Earth's stern-hearted messenger 
Leading to Death ; but from Perennial springs, 
In veil of gospel light, she like an angel brings. 

The natural year, fleet shadow of the sun, 
Wakes from the earth a varied tapestry 
To greet her footsteps, as she passes on ; 
Carpets of snow — sweet violets — lilies high ; 
Then fields of waving gold — then varied dye 
Of autumn ; but the snow, and violet sweet, 
Lilies, and autumn's wild variety, 
And waving corn, fast as the sunbeams fleet, 
They bow their head, and die beneath her hurrying 
feet. 

Not so the path the holy Church doth tread ; 
The year that walketh in her light unseen, 
Around its steps awakens from the dead 
The hopes that die not. Still through the serene 
Of the calm Sunday, like an alley green, 
Are seen the eternal towers ; and where lights gild 
Death's twilight portal, us and them between, 
She shows her suffering Lord : throughout the wild, 
Still shows her suffering Lord to her faint wandering 
child. 




Kk 



INDEX. 

Page 

A few short years make up our pilgrimage . 371 
A wintry night, yet brightly shine Heaven's 

myriad lamps of fire . . . . .79 
All hail ! the haughty from their towers . . 345 
Alas, in what inglorious strains . . . 287 
Amid things mightier far, both day and night . 326 
And far and near beneath the hazel shade . 181 

And next Macrothumous, whose quiet face . 6 
Art thou once more unfolding thus thy blossoms 

pale and meek .60 

As he who finds one flower sharp thorns among 299 
Autumn departs — but still his mantle's fold . 359 
Awake, my soul, chase from thine eyes . . 39 

Be it joy or sorrow . . . . .29 

Behold this ruin ! 'twas a scull . . . 101 

Blessed was the wondrous morning . . . 223 

But we are drawing near — this bowered lane . 215 

But we must needs depart, our rest is not . 335 



Page 
Can'st be idle, can'st thou play . . .106 

Christian, dost thou feel within . . . 266 

Come, mild and holy Dove .... 219 

Daylight is closing, but the west . . . 257 
Dear Lord ! that closed in this narrow room . 166 
Does each day upon its wing .... 318 

Easy in anguish keen to keep . . . 367 

E'en in this quiet lane the tainted air . . 274 

Flowers of the field, how meet ye seem . . 201 

God is our refuge, our strong tower . . 203 

God the Lord a king remaineth . . . 316 
Go where the mossy rock shall be . .75 

Hail, flow'rets of the Martyr band . . .45 

Hail, Solitude ; how sweet thy shade . . 286 

Hark ! hear you not a cheerful noise . . 38 
Hark ! how the floods clap their applauding hands 21 1 

He who amidst the sweets of summer bowers . 271 

Here then we rest not fearing for our creed . 349 

Here where the unresisted flood . . .87 

High matins now in bower and hall . . 247 

How dark and dull is all the vaporous air .111 



How pure thy beauty, O thou wintry day . . 24 

How fresh, oh Lord, how sweet and clean . 63 

How silently amongst the garden flowers . . 250 

How sweet the ways of Wisdom early gained . 192 

I am rooted in the wall 281 

I cannot look above and see . . . .13 

I got me flowers to strew Thy way . . . 168 
I know not how it is, but man ne'er sees . . 357 
I love not Comus' senseless glee . . .190 
I marked high towering o'er a gay green wood . 284 
I wake as Adam from the formless dust . . 369 
I walked the other day to spend my hour . .117 
If as a flower doth spread and die . . . 280 
If Heaven-born spirits by love's earthly part . 12 
If this mute earth ...... 141 

If sad looks be the herald of the heart . . 159 
In early days, nor then alone . . . .70 

In the days of our forefathers, the gallant days of 

old 143 

Is love then bounded ? May we not adore . .11 
It is the fall of eve ...... 1 

Jesu ! whose grace inspires Thy priests . . 169 

Leave me, O love ! which reachest but to dust . 210 

Kk3 



INDEX. 

Page 

Let us each day inure ourselves to die . . 351 
Letters there be too large for us to read . . 292 
Life's autumn past, I stand on winter's verge . 246 
Look forth mine eye, look up and view . .175 
Look as the flower which lingeringly doth fade . 279 
Lord, now the time returns . . . .19 
Lord of my life, length of my days . . . 341 
Lord, what a change within us one short hour . 28 
Lord, when Thou didst come down from Heaven 66 
Lord, with what care hast Thou begirt us round 134 
Low spirits are a sin, a penance given . . 27 

Men will be light of heart and glad . . . 275 

Midst balmiest odours of her own creation . 179 

Midst flowers of lonely dell or field . . . 235 

Most happy dawn ! that well dost usher in .167 

My little Doves have left a nest . . .94 

My sins and follies, Lord, by thee . . .15 
My soul is not untutored now .... 323 

Mysterious plant ! unknown thy native soil . 108 

My soul, why art thou thus deject . . .36 

Nor voice nor sound for me had power . . 322 
Now, my soul, the day is gone . . . .177 
Now the cheerful day is past . . . .331 



Page 
O blest seclusion ! when the Mind admits . 324 

O flower of beauty rare 312 

O how amiable are 319 

O happy flowers that while the dews of night . 136 
O Lamp of life ! that on the bloody Cross . 161 

O man, where'er thou art, whatever fate . . 208 
O, Sal'ston knoll ! I love you well . . .217 
O that my soul was now as fair . . . 269 

O weep for them who never knew . . . 124 
O you that careless pass along this way . . 162 
One day to Helbeck I had strolled . . .226 
Our stream of life flows fresh and full . . 133 
Out of the bosom of the dark deep tomb . .121 

Passing the enclosure where the dead repose . 116 
Pitch thy behaviour low ; thy projects high . 333 
Pray, on sweet child, though gladness now . 46 

Restore to God His due in tithes and time . 289 

Right dear to me, as well may be . .53 

Saviour and Lord beloved ! — what homage now 321 
See the star that leads the day .... 238 
Since, Lord, Thou hast well pleased been . 315 
Since thou hast added now, O God . . .17 
Slowly the winter's morning dawns, and through 
the icy pane 21 



Page 
Some, as they went, the blue eye'd violet strew 245 
Sweetly wandering from my way . . . 259 



Tell me, you bright stars that shine . . 355 

The beam-repelling mists arise . . . 242 
The childhood of the spring and summer flowers 180 

The glittering grass with dew-drops bright . 222 

The lovely form of God's own Church . . 7 

The poets vaunt autumnal hues too much . . 207 

The poor have hands, and feet, and eyes . .185 

The righteous souls are in the hand of God . 182 

The rude wind sweeps thee roughly by .85 

The sun is swiftly mounted high . . . 240 

The thickly woven boughs they wreathe . .31 

The traveller when his time is short . . 368 

Thence forward by that painful way they pass . 123 

There are who make their godless boast . . 126 

There is a glorious burden on the trees . . 78 
There is a jewel which no Indian mine can buy 94 
There is no flower that blows .... 254 

There is a Sabbath won for us . . .197 

They err who say life is not sweet . . .100 

They fable well, but fable still . . . .336 

They say who know of nature's lyre the tones . 244 

Thou freshest garland of the year . . . 343 



Thou hast left us all alone 

Thou wert the first of all I knew 

Thou wert fair, Lady Mary 

Though rude winds usher thee, sweet day 



Page 

. 298 

171 

. 32 

, 34 



Threading my way through low and marshy ground 294 
Thus drest, the joyful Gabriel posts away . 141 

Thus did the field flower speak . . .360 

Time rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore 55 
'Tis by comparison an easy task . . . 364 
'Tis not for us, and our proud hearts . . 310 

To God, ye choir above, begin . . . 103 

To-morrow, 'tis an idle sound . . . .54 
Tread softly — bow the head .... 252 
Truth loveth not to lavish upon all . . . 221 



Under the ocean wind constant and strong . 293 

Unto the East we turn 5 

Upon its mother's arm it lay .... 285 



Visions of vastness and of beauty ! long 



109 



Wake, all my hopes, lift up your eyes . . 352 
Was it the brazen horn 1 heard but now . . 330 

We are of the happy few 205 

We come not with a costly store . . .68 
We, housed safe 26 



INDEX. 

Page 

What's this, that from Heaven's high top . . 137 
When first I saw yon grassy nook . . .172 
When first Thou didst entice to Thee my heart 57 
When high the waves of battle roll . . .99 
When from the grey Church tower . . .49 
When mirth is full and free .... 9 
When thou hast lured the lightning from the sky 10 

Where duty lies 232 

Who would hoard earth's treasure . . .41 

Where is Jerusalem 91 

Who ever marked the vernal glow . . . 233 
Who knows, when he to go from home . .314 
Who sent ye from the trunk, and who hath placed 158 
Who that a watcher doth remain . . . 159 
Who would dwell on Autumn's sadness . . 339 
Why roam'st thou sad, and downward eye'd . 129 
Within a natural temple of old pine . . . 263 

Ye feather'd pilgrims, when the year grows old 363 
Ye shining ones that walk on Heaven's high wall 152 
Yes! easily the spirit might forego , . .12 
Yes, they are still the same — the Eternal sky . 244 
Yet, gracious God! yet ere my glass be spent . 154 
Yes, there are times when earth can stay no more 335 
You behold high on the breast .... 276 



Henry Mozley and Sons, Printers, Derby.